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University  of  California. 


CIRCULATIXG    BRAMJf. 


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FOREIGI  ETCHINGS; 


OR 


ntlm  S>Mt\ts 


OF    THE 


OLD  ¥ORLD'S  PLEASANT  PLACES. 


BY 


^^^   OP"  TH5? 

'TJNI7EESIT7; 


J.A.I.IES     -^7T.  -VO^-A.: 


^im^ 


BURLINGTON,  N.  J. 


1866. 


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^ 


> 


fentercd  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  £fty*8ix,  by 

JAMES  W.  WALL, 
in  the  Cleric's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  New  Jersey. 


PREFACE. 


Nothing  but  the  oft  repeated  requests  of  friends,  could 
have  induced  me  to  publish  these  fragments.  Sir  Henry 
Wotton  is  said  to  have  given  this  advice  to  Milton  when 
a  young  man,  and  about *to  travel  in  Italy:  *'i7  viso  sciolto 
ed  i pensieri  stretti'^ — "an  open  countenance,  but  close 
thoughts,"  or,  in  other  words,  "keep  your  thoughts  to 
yourself,  but  let  your  eyes  wander  abroad."  This  advice 
of  the  old  statesman^  might  be  very  well  given  to  those 
tourists,  who  after  skimming  over  the  surface  of  things 
in  Europe,  return  home  full  of  the  conceit,  that  they  are 
qualified  to  enlighten  their  countrymen  upon  the  social^ 
civil  and  political  history  of  the  countries  they  have  visited. 
A  tour  of  six  months,  or  a  year,  flitting  from  city  to  city, 
as  a  general  thing,  confers  no  qualification  upon  a  tourist, 
for  so  grave  an  undertaking.  In  these  pages  no  such 
attempt  has  been  made.  They  are  mere  outline  sketches, 
thrown  together  at  the  solicitation  of  a  few  friends,  upon 
whose  indulgence  I  know  I  can  throw  myself  for  even  the 
presumption  of  hearkening  to  their  too  partial  requests. 


IT  PREFACE. 

Like  old  Lylyin  his  Euphues,  "I was  in/orced  to preferre 

their  friendshippef  before  mine  own  fame — being  more 

earefid  to  satisfy  theire  requestes,  than  fear  full  of  other^s 

reportes." 

This  volume  pretends  not  to  be  a  connected  account  of 

an  European  tour;  only  a  series  of  etchings,  or  outline 

sketches  from  memory,  of  pleasant  places  in  the  old  world, 

whose  historic  associations  clothed  them  with  a  pleasant 

charm,  and  surrounded  them  with  a  never  failing  interest. 

They  are  at  best  but  random  sketches,  and  lay  claim  to  no 

great  literary  merit. 

J.  W.  W. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I. 
Edinburgh  —  Holyrood  and  its  Associations^ The  Castle,.        .      9 

CHAPTER  II. 

Melrose  Abbey  —  Abbotsford  —  Dryburg,  ....    34 

CHAPTER  III. 

A  view  of  London  from  "Waterloo  Bridge  —  Excursion  on  the 
Thames  —  St.  Mary  Overies  —  The  Tabard  Inn — Temple 
Church,    .  .        • 45 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Parks —  The  Mansion  House— The  Exchange  —  The  Bank 
of  England, 66 

CHAPTER  V. 
Richmond  —  Twickenham  —  Strawberry  Hill,    •        ,        .        •    &l 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Warwick  —  Kenilworth  —  Stratford  —  Charlicote,      .        .        .94 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Hampton  Court  —  Bushy  Park,    .        .        .        .        .        .        .110 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Crossing  the  Channel  —  Paris  —  The  Tuileries  and  its  associa- 
tions —  The  Louvre  —  Place  de  la  Concorde  —  The  Churches 
of  the  Madeleine,  St.  Roch,  and  St.  Denis,       .        .        .        .125 

CHAPTER  IX. 
Departure  from  Paris  —  Macon — Geneva  —  Ride  to  Chamonix 
—  Mer  de  Glace  —  The  Source  of  the  Arveiron  —  Mont  Blanc,  142 

CHAPTER  X. 

Departure  from  Chamonix  —  Lake  Leman  and  its  shores  — 
Vevay  —  Visit  to  Castle  Chillon, 155 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Ride  to  Berne  —  Berne  —  Basle  —  Strasburg  —  Baden-Baden  — 
Heidelburg  —  Mayence,  162 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  general  appearance  of  Berlin  —  The  Thier  Garten  —  The 
Brandenburg   Gate  —  The  Unter   den   Linden  —  Statue   of 
Frederick  the  Great, 1S2 

a2 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  Xin. 
The  Royal  Library  —  The  old  and  new  Museum  —  The  Cham- 
ber of  Art— Christmas  in  Berlin,      192 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Charlottenburg  —  Mausoleum   to  the  Queen  of  Prussia  —  Her 
History — Potsdam — Tomb   of  Frederick  the  Great  —  The 
New  Palace  —  Sans  Souci  —  Death  of  Frederick  the  Great,  206 


I>-AwI^T    II- 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ANTIQUITIES  OF  ITALY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

Porto  D'Anzio  —  Appearance  of  Naples  —  Confusion  of  its 
Streets  —  Pompeii  —  Its  Destruction  —  Present  appearance 
qt  the  streets  and  buildings, 219 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Grotto  of  Posolipo  —  Pozzuoli  —  The  Temple  of  Serapis  — 
The  Amphitheatre  —  Solfatara  —  Cicero's  Villa  —  Lake  Aver- 
nus — Misenum  —  The  Tomb  of  Virgil,  .        .        .        .  24& 

CHAPTER  III. 

Approach  to  Rome  —  View  from  the  Capitol  —  The  Seven  Hills 

—  The  Roman  Forum  and  its  Ruins, 259 

CHAPTER  IV. 

The  Arch  of  Titus  — The  Colosseum  — The  Meta  Sudans  — 
Arch  of  Constantine  —  Ruins  of  Nero's  Golden  Palace  —  Baths 
of  Caracalla  —  Baths  of  Titus  —  Temple  of  Minerva  Medica 

—  Baths  of  Diocletian  —  Forum  Boarium — Arch  of  Janus  — 
Forum  of  Nerva  —  Trajan's  Forum  —  Column  of  Trajan  — 
Temple  of  Vesta, 274 

CHAPTER  V, 

St.  Peter's  and  the  Vatican  —  Dimensions  of  Ihe  Vatican  — 
Christian  Epitaphs — Museo  Chiarimonte  —  II  Braccio  Nuovo 

—  Museo  Pio  Clementino  —  Ancient  Sarcophagus — The 
Apollo  —  The  Laocoon  —  Hall  of  Animals — Hall  of  Busts  — 
Hall  of  the  Greek  Cross — Collection  of  Antiquities  in  Rome,  292 

CHAPTER  VI.' 

Origin  of  the  Catacombs  —  Catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus — Epi- 
taphs —  Little  Chapels  —  Fresooes  —  Portrait  of  Christ —  The 
3urial  Place  of  St.  Paul 314 


TO 

THE   COMPANIONS   OF   MY  TOUR; 

IRRADIATING     HOME 

BY   THEIR   presence: 

AND 

GIVING    AN    ADDED     CHARM 

TO  EVERT  EXCURSION 
FROM  IT. 


FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

HISTORIC  MEMORIES  OF  EDINBURGH. 

Edinburgh  —  Holyrood,  and  its  associations  —  The  Castle. 

Edinburgh  has  well  been  styled  "  a  double  city" — first, 
an  ancient  and  picturesque  built  one,  set  Mpon  a  hill — and 
second,  an  elegant  modern  city,  extremely  classic  in  the 
architecture  of  its  public  buildings. 

The  Capital  of  Scotland  is  situate  in  the  northern  part 
of  the  county  of  Mid  Lothian,  and  about  two  miles  distant 
from  the  Firth  of  Forth.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  beauty, 
of  its  site;  while  in  the  panoramic  splendor,  presented 
from  the  elevated  points  of  the  city  and  neighborhood,  no 
city  in  Europe  surpasses  it.  Taking  our  stand  on  the 
edge  of  the  deep  ravine  which  divides  the  Old  from  the 
New  Town,  we  have  on  one  side  the  lofty  and  picturesque 
buildings  of  the  ancient  city ;  on  the  other  the  elegant 
and  classic  structures  of  the  modern  Athens ;  while  before 
you,  surmounting  its  almost  inaccessible  crag  is  the  Castle 
of  Edinburgh ;  its  formidable  ramparts,  still  echoing  with 
the  tread  of  the  military  sentinel,  as  in  those  stirring 


10 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


days,   "when   thronged  with   watchers  waiting  for  the 
coming  of  the  foe/'  and 

"  From  each  mountain  top,  a  flame 
Stream'd  into  the  torpid  air, 
Bearing  token  from  the  Border 
That  the  English  host  was  there." 

No  city  in  Europe  is  more  interesting  to  the  American 
traveller,  than  Edinburgh.  Its  associations  are  familiar; 
they  are  interwoven  with  the  pleasant  memories  of  his 
childhood.  The  early  tales  and  legends  of  Scotland,  that 
startled  his  young  spirit  in  the  hours  of  childhood's  ecstacy 
here  come  thronging  back  with  a  vividness  and  distinct- 
ness truly  overwhelming.  In  the  picturesqueness  of  its 
location,  and  the  natural  beauties  of  its  surroundings,  no 
city  in  Europe  can  compare  with  it,  except  Naples;  and  I 
know  of  no  view  Jn  the  world,  that  so  closely  resemhles 
that  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  as  the  one  which  bursts  upon 
the  spectator,  who  ascends  Calton  Hill^  and  looks  out  upon 
the  magnificent  panorama  of  stream,  hill  and  woodland,  ■ 
which  there  unfolds  in  all  its  ravishing  beauty  before  him. 
Below  him,  spreads  the  magnificent  bay  of  the  Firth  of 
Forth,  with  its  rocky  islands — towards  the  south,  are  the 
pastoral  acclivities  of  the  Pentlands,  and  the  more  shadowy 
splendors  of  the  Lammennoors,  and  the  Grampians ;  while 
behind  him^  rise  the  summits  of  Arthur's  Seat,  and  Salis- 
bury Crags,  the  haunted  places  of  tradition; 

**  Traced  like  a  map,  the  landscape  lies, 
In  caltured  beauty,  stretching  wide, 
There,  Pentland's  green  acclivities, 
There,  Ocean  with  its  azure  tide 
There  SaPsbury  Crag,  and  gleaming  through 
Thy  ftouihera  wing,  Duneddin  blue : 


EDINBURGH 


While  in  Ihe  Orient,  Lammer's  daughters, 
A  distant  giant  range  are  seen, 
North  Berwick  Law,  with  cone  of  green, 
And  blue  its  dimpled  waters." 

Go  where  you  will  in  Scotland,  you  meet  with  some 
traces  of  the  great  and  beautiful,  the  gifted,  or  the  fasci- 
nating, of  former  days :  not  only  the  ancient  walls,  and 
castellated  rocks  of  Edinburgh,  teem  with  historic  associa- 
tions of  the  highest  interest :  but  in  the  short  space  of 
twenty  miles,  between  Falkland  and  Stirling,  are  no  less 
than  four  battle  fields,  on  which  England's  fate  was  deter- 
mined by  armies,  almost  as  numerous,  as  those  that  met 
in  conflict  dire  at  Waterloo.  Lochleven,  exhibits  the 
ruins  of  the  mournful  prison  of  beauty;  Niddry  Castle, 
the  scene  of  her  evanescent  joys;  the  hills  of  Langside, 
witnessed  her  final  overthrow;  Cartlan  Crags  still  show 
the  Cave  of  Wallace ;  Turnbury  Castle,  the  scene  of 
Bruce's  first  victory;  and  Culloden,  the  last  battle  field  of 
generous  fidelity.  Every  step  in  Scotland  is  alive  with 
historic  incident ;  the  shades  of  the  dead  arise  on  every 
Bide — The  very  rocks  breathe,  for 

"  Each  rock  has  there  its  storied  tale ; 
Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale, 
Knitting  as  with  a  moral  band, 
The  native  legends,  with  the  land. 

And  as  it  is  with  the  rural  localities  of  Scotland,  so  is 
it  with  the  principal  towns.  There  is  hardly  a  street  io 
the  old  town  of  Edinburgh,  that  has  not  its  traditions ; 
and  the  entire  locality  swarms  with  spectral  beings  of  the 
past,  that  seem  to  start  out  from  every  nook,  and  corner. 
Yet  there  is  no  student  either  of  romance,  or  of  history, 
who  does  not  give  to  the  time-honored  precincts  of  Holy- 


12  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

rood,  and  its  ruined  Abbey  Church,  the  preference  over 
all  others.  How  many  wanderers  from  every  region  of 
the  earth,  have  traversed  the  old  thoroughfare  of  the 
Canongate,  to  visit  these  venerable  piles ! 

Holyrood,  like  all  the  religious  houses  of  Europe,  has 
the  authority  of  a  legend,  for  its  foundation.  David  I. 
of  Scotland,  not  having  much  reverence  for  holy-days, 
would  a  hunting  go  on  the  festival  of  the  exaltation  of 
the  cross,  or  Rood  day,  as  it  is  styled  in  llomish  missals. 
When  in  the  ardor  of  the  chase  he  had  ridden  to  the  foot 
of  the  crag,  (now  known  as  Arthur's  Seat,)  there  suddenly 
rushed  upon  him  from  the  wood,  the  fairest  hart  that  was 
ever  seen,  dashing  the  royal  hunter  and  his  horse  to  the 
grouud  with  great  violence.  But,  as  the  affrighted 
monarch  threw  back  his  hands,  to  avoid  the  sharp  antlers 
of  the  enraged  stag,  a  holy  cross,  fell  as  it  were  from 
Heaven  into  his  trembling  fingers,  and  the  radiance  of  the 
sacred  emblem,  so  dazzled  the  eyes  of  the  wild  animal, 
that  he  fled  affrighted  from  the  sight.  The  gratefu^ 
King,  thereupon  resolved  to  erect  upon  the  spot  a  House 
to  be  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Rood,  the  Virgin  and  all 
saints.  Like  all  legends  this  no  doubt  was  an  after  thought 
of  some  pious  brother  of  the  Abbey,  for  the  purpose  of 
throwing  a  supernatural  lustre  around  the  foundation  of 
his  House.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  very  certain  that  a 
Religious  House,  called  the  Abbey  of  Holyrood,  existed 
on  this  spot,  from  the  year  1128,  to  the  days  of  the  ill-fated 
James  IV.,  who  perished  bravely,  and  like  a  King,  on  that 
fiktal  field  of  Flodden,  where  before  the  English  focman, 
rose  "that  mortal  rampart," 

"Which  the  Iwldest,  dare  not  scale; 
Every  stone,  a  Scottish  body, 


HOLYROOD.  13 

Every  step,  a  corpse  in  mail ; 
While  behind  it,  lay  the  monarch 
Clenching  still,  his  shivered  sword! 
By  his  side,  Montrose,  and  Athol, 
At  his  feet,  a  southron  Lord." 

About  the  year  1502,  this  ill-fated  monarch,  built  a 
palace  adjacent  to  the  Abbey;  and  no  sooner  was  the  royal 
dwelling  fit  for  habitation,  than  the  bride  of  its  founder, 
stepped  across  its  threshold — that  beautiful  Margaret 
Tudor,  the  capricious  daughter  of  Henry  VII.,  from  whom 
has  descended  the  long  line  of  sovereigns  of  the  British 
Empire. 

In  the  year  1538,  in  the  Abbey  Church,  whose  graceful 
ruin,  lingers  like  a  thing  of  beauty,  haunting  the  memory, 
was  crowned  the  graceful  and  talented  Mary  of  Lorraine, 
the  second  Queen  of  James  V.,  and  the  mother  of  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots — that  Princess,  whose  blood  courses  now 
in  more  than  two  thirds  of  the  reigning  houses  of  Europe; 
whose  personal  charms,  and  tragic  death  have  drawn  elo- 
quence from  the  pens  of  so  maqy  historians ;  filling  the 
day-dreams  of  poets  with  glimpses  of  the  serene  loveliness 
of  a  face  angelic  in  its  beauty.  In  this  palace  erected 
by  her  ancestor,  occurred  those  events,  which  inseparably, 
connect  Holyrood  with  her  life ;  and  its  gloomy  apartments, 
with  memories  of  the  most  thrilling  interest.  Here,  she 
first  reposed  upon  her  arrival  from  the  sunny  land  of  France, 
and,  in  an  evil  hour  was  married  to  Lord  Darnley — 
here,  llizzio  was  murdered  almost  at  her  feet — here,  she 
enchained  all  that  loved  her,  by  the  extreme  beauty  of 
her  person,  and  the  ravishing .  graces  of  her  manner — 
Here  too,  born  in  "  o'ertrying  times,"  she  was  forced  to 
endure  those  memorable,  and  distressing  interviews,  with 


14  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

the  stern  and  iron  hearted  leaders  of  the  Scottish  Refor- 
mation; when  Knox,  "smote  so  hastily  upon  her  heart,  that 
it  made  her  weep  full  sore." 

This  Palace  witnessed  the  scene  of  her  mysterious,  and 
unnatural  nuptials  with  Bothwell,  and  beneath  its  roof, 
she  reposed  the  captive  of  her  subjects,  on  that  eventful 
night,  before  she  was  committed  to  the  Castle  of  Lochle- 
ven,  which  she  only  left  to  be  defeated  on  the  Hills  of  Lang- 
side  :  and  afterwards  in  a  moment  of  mistaken  confidence, 
to  place  herself  in  the  power  of  Elizabeth,  to  be  from  that 
hour,  the  victim  of  one  long  train  of  dissimulation  and 
vindictive ness;  then  in  the  end  to  perish,  by  the  cruel  and 
unjustifiable  mandate  of  that 

"  False  woman, 
Her  kinswoman,  yet  her  foe." 

The  Palace^  and  ruined  Abbey  Church  of  Holyrood, 
are  situate  at  the  end  of  the  ancient  street  in  Edinburgh, ' 
known  as  the  Canongate.  The  first  is  a  gloomy  looking 
structure^  with  pinnacled  turrets,  and  a  dark  exterior,  that 
send  a  chill  to  the  heart.  The  existing  palace  consists 
of  the  northwestern  towers,  (the  only  remnant  of  the  royal 
dwelling  of  Queen  Mary,)  and  the  more  modern  structure 
erected  by  Charles  II.  The  palace  built  by  Charles  is  a 
quadrangular  building,  having  a  square  court  in  the 
centre.  At  either  extremity  is  a  massive  square  tower, 
four  stories  'high,  having  three  circular  towers  or  turrets 
at  its  exterior  angles,  which  rise  from  the  ground  to  the 
battlements  of  the  main  tower,  terminating  in  conical 
roofs.  Ascending  a  stone  stair  case  from  the  piazza  of 
the  court  yard,  you  enter  the  Picture  Gallery  at  the  first 
landings  by  a  door  on  the  right.  An  hundred  portraits  of 


HOLYROOD.  15 

Kings  of  Scotland,  from  the  misty  times  of  Fergus  I. 
down  to  the  end  of  the  Stuart  dynasty  look  down  upon 
you  from  its  walls.  This  chamber  is  historically  interest- 
ing from  the  fact,  that  it  was  the  ball  room,  used  by  the 
Pretender,  during  his  brief  occupation  of  Holyrood.  It 
was  here  he  gave  that  celebrated  entertainment,  which 
has  derived  immortality  from  the  pen  of  the  great  modern 
master  of  Romance,  and  the  first  perhaps  that  had  en- 
livened its  deserted  precincts  for  many  a  long  year. 

The  Young  Pretender  had  that  morning  made  his 
entrance  into  the  royal  palace  of  his  ancestors.  He  had 
played  the  game  most  royally,  in  which  the  stakes  were  a 
coffin,  or  a  crown.  His  daring  foot  had  first  pressed  the 
desolate  rocks  of  the  Western  Islands — and  by  the  attrac- 
tions of.  a  handsome  and  youthful  person,  associated 
with  the  winning  powers  of  a  most  earnest  eloquence,  he 
had  overcome  the  scruples  of  a  naturally  cautious  race  : 
gathering  round  his  standard,  as  gallant  and  devoted  a 
band  as  ever  fought  in  the  cause  of  his  family^  beneath 
the  banners  of  Montrose  and  Dundee — in  the  words  of  th© 
old  border  song, 

"Leaving  their  mountains,  to  follow  Prince  Charlie, 
Follow  thee !  follow  thee !  who  wad'na  follow  thee ! 
Lang  hast  thou  lo'ed,  and  trusted  us  fairly, 
Charlie !  Charlie  !  who  wad  na  follow  thee, 
King  of  the  Highland  hearts,  bonnie  Prince  Charlie." 

In  the  very  square  directly  in  front  of  the  Palace,  Lochiel 
gathered  his  gallant  Camerons,  who  had  made  themselves 
masters  of  Edinburgh,  at  early  dawn;  and  there  on 
horseback,  with  a  drawn  sword  in  her  hand,  [was  that 
brave  and  enthusiastic  woman,  Murray  of  Broughton,  dis- 
tributing with  her  own  fair  hands  to  the  crowd,  the  white 


16  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

ribbon,  or  cockade,  that  emblem  of  devotion,  to  the  cause 
of  Stuart,  and  which  originated  the  following  spirited 
Scottish  song, 

"  My  love  was  born  in  Aberdeen, 
The  bonniest  lad  that  e'er  was  seen ; 
But  now  he  makes  our  hearts  fu'  sad, 
He's  ta'en  the  field,  wi  his  white  cockade. 

O!  he's  a  ranting,  roving  blade  ; 
O!  he's  a  brisk,  and  bonnie  lad; 
Betide  what  may,  my  heart  isglai! 
To  see  my  lad  wi'  his  white  cockade. 

I'll  sell  my  rock,  I'll  sell  my  reel, 

My  rippling  kame,  and  spinning  wheel, 

To  buy  ray  lad,  a  tartan  plaid, 

A  braidsword  and  a  white  cockade. 

I'll  sell  my  rokeby,  and  my  tow, 

My  gude  grey  mare,  and  brindled  cow, 

That  every  loyal  Buchan  lad. 

May  tak'  the  field,  wi'  his  white  cockade." 

Very  nearly  at  the  same  hour,  with  this  gathering  in 
the  square,  high  up  upon  the  mountain  slope  beyond  the 
walls,  and  nearthc  classic  pool  of  St.  Anthony's  Well,  stood 
the  young  Prince  himself  looking  down  for  the  first  time 
upon  the  ancient  palace  of  his  forefathers,  with  all  its  glo- 
rious natural  surroundings,  every  foot  of  which  was  intimate- 
ly connected  with  the  pastimes,  the  sorrows,  and  the  brief 
triumphs  of  his  strangely  unfortunate  race.  At  noon  he 
entered  the  ancient  city,  tho  mob  in  their  mad  enthusiasm, 
pressing  forward  to  kiss  his  hands,  then  actually  "dimming 
his  very  boots  with  their  tears;"  and  at  night,  plume  and 
tartan  were  mingling  in  the  dance,  to  the  merry  music  of 
pibroch,  and  harp  on  the  polished  floor  of  this  old  HalK 
There   in   that  gay  and    gallant    company,    might    bo 


HOLYROOD.  17 

discerned  the  bold  devoted  Fergus  Mclvor,  the  high- 
minded  Flora  McDonald,  and  the  gentle  woman  like 
Rose  Bradwardine.  A  few  short  days,  and  on  Culloden's 
fatal  field; 

"  There  the  brokea  clans  were  scattered, 

Gaunt  as  wolves,  and  famine-eyed, 

Hunger  gnawing  at  their  vitals, 

Hope  abandoned,  all  but  pride. 

Pride,  and  that  supreme  devotion 

Which  the  Southron,  never  knew, 

And  the  hatred,  deeply  rankling, 

'Gainst  the  Hanoverian  crew. 

Chief  and  vassal,  Lord,  and  yeoman, 

There  they  lay  in  heaps  together. 

Smitten  by  the  deadly  volley, 

Rolled  in  blood  upon  the  heather." 

You  pass  on  by  the  door  of  the  chamber,  that  has 
awakened  such  reflections  to  the  suite  of  gloomy  apart- 
ments, known  as  Darnley's.  There  is  nothing  very 
remarkable  in  these  chambers,  save  some  hideous-look- 
ing portraits  of  the  Hamilton  family  so  celebrated  in 
Scottish  history.  There  is  in  one  of  the  apartments,  a 
portrait  of  Charles  II.,  an  ill-looking  dog,  on  whose 
features  lust  has  stamped  its  impress.  Returning  through 
Darnley's  apartments,  and  leaving  them  by  the  left  hand 
door  of  the  Audience  Chamber,  you  ascend  a  narrow,  and 
dark  stairway,  to  enter  what  historians,  poets,  and  nove- 
lists have  combined  to  render  the  most  interesting  suite  of 
apartments  in  Europe — the  chambers  once  occupied  by 
the  ill-fated  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  The  first  is  the  Pre- 
sence Chamber,  where  on  all  state  occasions,  Mary  had  her 
receptions.  The  roof  is  divided  into  pannelled  compart- 
ments, adorned  with  the  initials  and  armorial  bearings  of 

royal  personages,  and  the  walls   are  hung  with  ancient 
b2 


18  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

tapestry,  the  color  of  whicli  has  been  almost  obliterated 
by  the  uncourtly  hand  of  Time  ;  a  few  of  the  embroidered 
chairs  that  once  graced  this  chamber  still  stand  against 
the  walls ;  a  large  double  one  is  shown,  with  the  initials 
of  Mary,  and  Darnley  worked  in,  by  the  Queen's  own 
hands,  which  once  stood  upon  the  raised  platform  of  the 
throne  of  Scotland.  There  is  a  portrait  suspended  near  the 
ancient  fire-place,  said  to  be  of  Mary,  though  it  is  clearly 
not  her's;  but  looks  in  the  shai-pness  of  its  lines,  and  with 
the  crisp  red  hair  curled  so  primly  at  the  temples,  more 
like  the  portrait  of  her  hateful  rival  and  persecutor  Queen 
Elizabeth.  An  old  high-post  bedstead,  with  its  velvet 
curtains  mouldering  and  moth-eaten,  stands  in  one  corner 
of  the  room.  It  was  upon  this,  Charles  I.,  reposed  the 
night  after  his  coronation  in  Scotland,  and  the  young  Pre- 
tender, here  slept  for  the  last  time  in  the  Palace  of  his 
ancestors.  It  was  in  this  chamber,  that  the  stern  Refor- 
mer Knoz^  had  his  insulting  interview  with  Mary,  when 
in  her  rage,  she  exclaimed,  "  never  was  Prince  handled 
as  I  am.  I  have  borne  with  you  in  all  your  rigorous  man- 
ner of  speaking,  both  against  myself,  and  my  uncles ;  yea 
I  have  sought  your  favor  by  all  possible  means.  I  offered 
unto  you  presence  and  audience,  and  yet  it  seems  I  can- 
not be  quit  of  your  unbridled  insolence.  I  vow  to  Grod, 
I  shall  be  revenged.*'  To  all  this,  with  unblcnching  brow, 
and  unshaken  front,  Knox  replied ;  *'  most  true  it  is, 
madame;  your  Grace  and  I,  have  been  at  divers  contro- 
versies together.  Without  the  preaching  place,  madame,  I 
am  not  master  of  myself;  for  I  must  obey  Him,  who  com- 
mands  me  to  speak  plain,  and  to  flatter  no  flesh  upon 
earth  :''  and  then  turning  to  the  gaily  dressed  ladies,  who 
iurroanded  her,  and  fixing  bis  keen  grey  eyes  upon  them^ 


nOLYROOD.  m 

he  said  in  a  bantering  tone ;  '*  0  fair  ladies,  how  pleasing 
is  this  life  of  yours,  if  it  would  ever  2ft)ide,  or  if  in  the 
end  ye  might  pass  to  Heaven,  with  all  this  fine  gear.  But 
fie  upon  the  Knave  Death,  who  will  come,  whether  we 
will  or  not;  and  then  when  he  has  laid  on  his  arrest,  the 
foul  ugly  worms  will  be  busy  with  this  flesh,  be  it  ever  so 
fair,  and  tender ;  and  as  for  the  silly  soul,  I  fear  it  will  be 
so  feeble,  that  it  will  not  be  able  to  carry  with  it,  gold 
garnishing,  targetting,  and  precious  stones. '' 

Visions  of  the  many  thrilling  scenes,  enacted  in  this 
old  Audience  Chamber,  come  thronging  upon  the  mind,  as 
you  stand  within  its  now  desolate  precincts.  Here  Mary 
received  the  homage  from  many  a  noble  Scottish  heart, 
but  oftener  from  hearts  that,  even  in  her  presence^  were 
hatching  treason  against  her  realm,  and  person.  Arras, 
and  cloth  of  gold,  once  covered  these  old  walls — cabinets 
from  Ind,  and  Venice,  of  filagree  gold  and  silver,  or- 
namented the  interior  of  this  chamber — lamps  of  silver 
were  hanging  from  the  pendant  pinnacles  of  the  fret- 
ted ceiling,  emblazoned  with  the  royal  arms  of  Scotland, 
and  the  escutcheon  of  the  Queen,,  impaling  the  royal 
lilies  of  France.  It  was  over  this  old  polished  floor  of  oak, 
the  ruthless  murderers  dragged  the  screaming  Eizzio,  to 
pour  out  his  life-blood,  from  sixty-two  gaping  wounds,  that 
had  been  opened  by  Scottish  daggers. 

From  this  Audience  Chamber,  you  pass  by  a  low  door 
into  the  bed  room  of  Mary.  The  ceiling,  like  that  of 
the  Audience  Chamber,  is  divided  into  compartments  of 
diamond  form,  adorned  with  the  emblems  and  initials  of 
Scottish  sovereigns — while  its  walls  are  rustling  with  the 
fluttering  of  decaying  tapestry.  The  historic  and  romantic 
incidents  connected  with  this  chamber,  render  it  unques- 


20  FOREIGN   ETCHING?. 

tionably  the  most  interesting  apartment  in  the  Palace ; 
while  its  melancholy  and  faded  aspect,  are  in  perfect  keep- 
ing with  iU  tale  of  sorrow,  and  of  crime.  It  is  indeed 
a  melancholy  looking  apartment  now,  with  its  wretched 
paintings  o*er  the  mantle,  its  shreds  of  silken  tapestry 
fluttering  from  the  walls,  and  the  high-backed  and  grotesque- 
ly looking  carved  chairs,  alone  attesting  its  former  magni- 
ficence. Here  stands  the  bed,  where  care  so  often  visited 
her  unquiet  pillow — its  once  beautiful  canopy  in  rags,  its 
richly  carved  oaken  posts  mouldering,  and  worm-eaten ; 
while  the  embroidered  coverlid  that  adorned  it,  is  in 
shreds  and  tatters.  Close  by  it,  stands  a  large  round  basket 
of  wicker-work,  once  used  by  the  unfortunate  Queen  to 
hold  the  baby-linen  of  her  son.  Upon  a  stand  near  the 
window  is  her  work-box,  once  no  doubt  very  elegant,  as  it 
was  a  present  from  the  young  Dauphin  of  France  before 
her  marriage;  but  it  bears  now  very  few  traces  of  its 
former  magnificence.  As  you  lift  the  lid  and  look  into 
its  tarnished  French  mirror,  with  the  lustre  almost  gone, 
you  think  how  often  it  must  have  reflected  the  sad  sweet 
face  of  its  fair  owner.  How  often  she  must  have  gazed 
mournfully  at  this  memento  of  early  affection,  recalling 
as  it  did,  those  halcyon  hours  of  youth  and  happiness,  gone 
never  to  return,  and  appearing  all  the  stronger,  by  the 
contrast  with  the  gloomy  hours,  which  so  often  struck  a 
chill  to  the  heart,  in  the  dark  and  sombre  chambers  of 
Holyrood. 

From  this  bed-room,  doors  lead  into  two  small  turret- 
like chambers.  That  chamber  on  your  left  hand  as  you 
enter  the  bed-room,  was  used  by  Mary  as  a  dressing-room 
and  oratory.  Her  private  altar  was  erected  here,  and  they 
Still  show,  the  exquisitely  carved  candelabra  that  adorned 


nOLYROOD.  21 

it.  A  few  articles  that  once  graced  her  toilet,  may  also  be 
seen  upon  the  table,  together  with  the  fragments  of  an  old 
French  mirror,  its  silvering  gone,  and  frame  decayed. 
Directly  opposite  the  door  of  this  oratory,  is  the  memora- 
ble little  turret  chamber,  where  Mary  was  seated  at  supper, 
with  Rizzio,  the  Countess  of  Argyle,  and  one  or  two  other 
friends;  when  the  poor  Italian  was  torn  screaming  from  her 
presence,  and  dispatched  by  sixty-two  wounds,  in  one  corner 
of  that  Audience  Chamber,  we  have  just  left.  The  true 
story  of  that  murder  most  foul,  I  believe  to  be  as  follows  : 
Mary  was  setited  in  this  little  turret  chamber,  that 
opened  into  her  bed  room,  at  one  of  those  small  parties, 
in  the  easy  cheerfulness  of  which  she  took  great  pleasure. 
Beside  her  sat  the  Countess  Argyle,  her  sister,  and  one  or 
two  others;  while  Rizzio  occupied  a  seat  at  the  other  end  of 
the  small  table.  No  noise  is  heard,  no  suspicion  entertained. 
The  Palace  is  quietly  surrounded  by  several  adherents  of 
the  conspirators  under  Morton.  A  private  staircase,  led 
from  Darnley's  apartment  below,  to  Mary's  bed  room;  and 
by  this  the  young  Prince  ascends,  seats  himself  at  the  side 
of  the  Queen,  and  with  the  easy  familiarity  of  the  hus- 
band, puts  his  arm  around  her  waist.  Shortly  after, 
upon  a  given  signal  from  Darnley,  the  curtain  of  the  door, 
leading  into  the  bed  chamber  is  lifted,  and  in  stalks  the 
fierce  Ruthven,  in  complete  armor,  his  face  ghastly  alike 
with  sickness  and  ferocity.  Mary  quickly  disengages  her- 
self from  the  clasp  of  Darnley,  confronts  the  miscreant, 
and  with  that  courage  for  which  she  was  so  remarkable ; 
and  the  early  manifestation  of  which  once  induced  her 
uncle  of  Guise  to  say  to  her ;  "  had  you  lived  in  the  days 
when  women  went  into  battle,  you  would  have  taught  your 
troops    how   to   die   well" — she   sternly  demanded  th^ 


22 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


cause  of  the  intrusion,  and  ordered  him  instantly  to  leave 
her  apartment.  But  ere  he  could  reply,  the  door  opening 
into  the  bed  room,  was  crowded  with  men  bearing  torches, 
and  brandishing  daggers.  The  next  instant,  Kerr  of 
Falconside,  and  George  Douglass,  a  kinsman  of  Morton's, 
rush  in,  dash  down  the  table  almost  upon  the  Queen,  then 
dart  upon  Rizzio,  who  in  an  instant  shelters  himself 
behind  Mary,  seizing  upon  her  gown  and  screaming  fran- 
tically, justice!  justice!  madame,  save  my  life!  For  a 
moment,  his  appeal  and  entreaties  keep  them  back:  but 
Darnley  seizing  the  Queen,  tries  to  tear  Rizzio's  grasp 
from  her  gown^  and  Douglass  snatching  Darnley's  dagger 
from  its  sheath,  stabs  the  crouching  Italian,  over  Mary's 
shoulder,  and  left  the  weapon  sticking  in  his  body.  The 
rest  of  the  conspirators,  now  at  this  first  sight  of  blood, 
rush  like  furious  hounds  upon  their  prey,  tear  him  from 
the  grasp  of  the  agonized  Queen,  and  drag  him  shrieking 
and  struggling  on,  through  the  bed  and  Audience  Chamber, 
stabbing  him  as  they  went,  until  in  one  corner  he  fell, 
and  died  pierced -with  sixty-two  wounds. 

Nothing  can  show  more  strongly  the  ferocious  manners 
of  the  times,  than  an  incident  which  now  occurred* 
Ruthven  faint  from  weakness,  and  reeking  from  this 
scene  of  bloody  staggered  back  again  into  the  Queen's 
cabinet,  where  Mary  still  stood,  overwhelmed  with  appre- 
hension. Here  he  insolently  threw  himself  upon  a  seat, 
called  for  a  cup  of  wine,  and  being  reproached  for  the 
cruelty  of  his  conduct,  by  the  outraged  Queen,  not  only 
▼indicated  himself  and  his  associates,  but  plunged  a  new 
dagger  into  the  fluttering  heart  of  his  young  and  beautiful 
sovereign,  by  declaring  that  Darnley  her  husband,  had 
advised  the  whole.     Mary  was  then  ignorant  of  the  com- 


^j^^    Olf  THK.  XT 

HOLYROOD.  '  23 

pletion  of  the  murder  :  But  suddenly  one.  of  her  ladies 
rushed  into  the  room  exclaiming,  "  poor  Ptizzio  is  slain." 
"And  is  it  so?"  said  the  indignant  Queen^  fixing  her  flash- 
ing eyes  upon  Ruthven — "then  farewell  tears^  it  shall  be 
dear  hlude  to  some  of  you.  I  will  now  study  revenge." 
The  other  assassins  escaped  from  a  window  on  the  North 
side  of  Darnley'5  apartments,  leaping  over  the  garden  wall 
near  a  small  lodge,  which  is  still  standing,  and  where  but 
a  few  years  since,  a  rusty  dagger  was  found  deeply  cor- 
roded with  blood,  and  bearing  the  stamp  of  the  family 
crest  of  Douglass,  one  of  the  conspirators. 

It  would  be  hard  now,,  in  looking  at  the  little  turret 
chamber,  where  this  dreadful  scene  was  enacted,  to  imagine 
that  it  could  ever  have  been  the  favorite  retreat  of  royalty, 
although  traces  of  its  former  splendor  are  still  discernible 
in  the  fragments  of  silk-hangings  still  fluttering  from  its 
dreary  walls.  It  is  a  gloomy  looking  spot  now,  and  really 
seems  as  if  blasted  by  the  terrible  tragedy  once  enacted 
within  its  precincts.  A  portrait  of  Rizzio  hangs  over  the 
the  door,  a  sweet  melancholy  face,  with  large  lustrous  Ita- 
lian eyes:  in  gazing  at  it,  one  knows  not  how  to  reconcile 
its  genuineness,  with  the  contemporary  tales  of  his  fright- 
ful ugliness.  One  chronicler  gives  us  this  portrait  of  the 
Italian  secretary — "  He  is  quite  ill-favored,  having  a  de- 
formed body,  and  a  most  ungracious  visage."  How  far 
this  portraiture  was  colored  by  personal  hatred  to  the  sub- 
ject, we  cannot  say, .  In  one  corner  of  this  chamber,  is  a 
helmet  and  breast-plate  very  much  rust-eaten  and  corroded, 
said  to  have  been  the  very  one  worn  by  the  fierce  Ruthven, 
when  the  foul  deed  of  Rizzio's  murder  was  done.  As  you 
pass  out  again  through  the  Audience  Chamber,  just  by  the 
head  of  the  ricketty  stairway^  your  attention  is  called  to  a 


24  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

large  dark  stain  upon  the  floor,  said  to  have  been  caused 
by  the  blood  of  the  murdered  Italian.  It  is  a  large  stain, 
but  not  larger  than  would  be  produced  by  the  crimson  fluid, 
pouring  from  sixty-two  gaping  wounds:  and  when  it  is 
remembered  that  the  bleeding  body  lay  here  all  night,  one 
is  readily  inclined  to  believe  the  story. 

You  pass  down  from  Mary's  apartments,  through  the 
Quadrangle,  and  so  into  the  ruin  of  what  was  once  the 
Royal  Chapel  of  Holyrood.  It  is  certainly  a  graceful  frag- 
ment of  the  fine  old  Gothic  pile,'  with  its  long  rows  of 
clustered  columns,  still  supporting  many  of  their  carved 
capitals  entire.  The  aisles  are  literally  floored  with  sculp- 
tured grave-stones,  some  of  which  belong  to  the  period 
when  ^'ihe  Chapel  Royal''  was  the  Canongate  Parish  Kirk  : 
but  on  most  of  them,  may  still  be  noticed  the  elaborate 
carved  cross,  indicating  that  beneath  repose  the  abbots  of 
the  ancient  monastery.  Many  and  varied  are  the  associa- 
tions connected  with  this  Chapel.  Within  it,  until  the 
royal  sanctuary  of  the  dead  was  sacrilegiously  invaded, 
slept  the  buried  majesty  of  Scotland, 

"  Life's  fever  o'er." 

At  the  eastern  extremity,  just  beneath  this  graceful  Gothic 
window,  which  once  through  its  gorgeous  panes  dyed  with 
prismatic  hues  the  high  altar,  did  Mary  in  an  evil  hour 
give  her  hand  to  the  unprincipled  and  dissipated  Darnley. 
On  that  eventful  occasion,  she  was  attired  in  mourning,  as 
if  foreshadowing  the  gloom,  which  was  so  soon  to  lower 
about  her  house.  She  bad  worn  that  dress,  as  she  stood 
a  widowed  Queen,  by  the  remains  of  her  husband,  the 
young  King  of  France :  and  it  was  proper,  as  she  then 
atood  upon  the  brink  of  that  grave  wherQ  her  happiness 


HOLYROOD.  25 

was  to  be  forever  entombed,  that  she  should  once  moro 
assume  the  habiliments  of  woe. 

The  ancient  doorway  of  this  chapel,  is  a  noble,  high 
arched,  and  deeply  recessed  one;  in  its  architecture  be- 
longing to  the  best  years  of  the  early  English  style  in 
Scotland.  Above  this  doorway,  on  a  tablet  inserted  by 
Charles  I.,  is  the  curious  inscription :  "  He  shall  build 
ane  house,  for  my  name,  and  I  will  stablish  his  Throne 
forever;"  a  text  most  strangely  chosen,  if  intended  in  its 
prophetic  spirit,  to  apply  to  that  sceptre,  which  was 
already  trembling  in  his  grasp.  The  grave  of  the  unfor* 
tunate  Rizzio,  is  pointed  out  in  that  part  of  the  chapel 
floor,  which  by  the  intrusionof  the  palace  buildings,  has 
been  formed  into  ja.  passage  leading  to  the  quadrangle. 
The  marks  of  the  old  doorway,  that  opened  into  the  private 
passage,  leading  through  Darnley's,  up  to  Mary's  apart- 
ments^ and  by  which  the  conspirators  found  ready  en- 
trance^ may  still  be  seen:  Mary  had  it  walled  up,  but 
the  outlines  of  the  old  door^  are  still  plainly  visible  in  the 
plaster. 

As  the  conspirators  passed  through  that  holy  place,  "on 
their  fell  deed  intent,"  one  might  suppose,  they  would 
have  hesitated,  before  they  sent  the  poor  Secretary  to  his 
last  account.- 

"  In  the  blossom  of  his  sins, 

With  all  his  imperfections  on  his  head, 

Uuhouselled,  ttttanoiflted,  unannealed." 

It  would  not  be  proper  to  dismiss  Holyrood,  without  a 
brief  allusion  to  the  tragic  end  of  "  Mary  Stuart,  the  spell 
of  whose  presence  haunts  it,"  from  turret  to  foundation 

Btone." 
c 


26  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

On  the  7th  of  February  1586,  at  Fotheringay  Castle, 
where  for  eighteen  long  years,  she  had  dragged  on  a 
weary  imprisonment — two  Noblemen  of  England  were 
ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  captive  Queen,  bearing 
the  dread  warrant  of  her  execution.  Years  of  sorrow,  had 
silvered  o'er  those  locks,  once  so  beautiful,  that  an  ena- 
mored French  poet,  had  declared  them 

"  Streaming  curls,  steeped  in  golden  sunshine." 

The  agonies  and  privations  of  a  long  confinement,  had 
robbed  her  figure  of  its  elasticity  and  lithe ness;  but  failed 
to  touch  the  majesty  of  her  mien. 

She  was  seated  at  the  foot  of  her  humble  bed,  busy  with 
embroidery  work,  while  near  by  stood  her  physician,  and 
her  women.  "When  the  dreadful  mandate  was  read,  to 
which  she  listened  with  earnest  attention ;  she  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  raising  her  melancholy  eyes,  lit 
with  a  tearful  power  towards  Heaven ;  thanked  her  gra- 
cious God,  that  the  welcome  news  had  at  last  come;  de- 
claring "how  happy  she  could  be,  to  leave  a  world,  where 
she  had  suffered  so  cruelly.*'  Then  after  a  most  eloquent 
and  touching  defence  of  the  tenets  of  that  Church,  she 
loved  so  well — burst  forth  in  that  noble  protest,  which 
must  have  sunk  into  the  heart  of  Elizabeth,  (unless*  it 
^as  harder  than  the  nether  millstone,)  as  the  iron  at  a 
white  heat,  sinks  into  the  quivering,  tortured  flesh  :  "  I 
have  been  treated  with  ignominy,  and  injustice — impri- 
soned, contrary  to  faith  and  treaties,  kept  a  captive  for 
nineteen  years,  and  at  last  condemned  to  die  by  a  tribunal, 
whose  jurisdiction  I  deny,  and  for  a  crime,  of  which,  I  call 
High  Heaven  to  witness,  I  am  as  innocent  as  a  babe ;  and 
now  my  Lords,  all  I  have  to  ask  is,  when  is  the  time  fixed 
for  my  execution?"     "  To  morrow  morning,  madamc,  at 


MARY,   QtTEEN  OF   SCOTS.  2T 

eight  of  the  clock,  in  the  large  Hall  of  this  Castle/'  was  th& 
q.uick  and  heartless  reply  :  But  her  bold  spirit  blenched 
not — the  blood  of  Charlemagne  was  beating  full  in  that 
brave  heart — The  soul  was  hers  of  the  gallant  hearted 
King,  her  grandfather,  who  "  had  kept  royal  state  and  sem- 
blance  on  Flodden's  bloody  field,  with  the  banner  of  Scot- 
land round  him  for  a  shroud. 

Upon  the  departure  of  the  noblemen,  Mary  called  in  & 
calm  voice  to  her  women,  and  bid  them  prepare  supper, 
that  she  might  have  time  to  arrange  her  affairs.  ^'Cease 
weeping,  Jane  Kennedy,  said  she,  to  one  of  her  faithful  at- 
tendants and  be  busy  1  Did  I  not  warn  you,  my  child,  that  it 
would  come  to  this,  and  now  blessed  be  God,  it  has  come, 
and  fear  and  sorrow  are  at  an  end.  Weep  not,  but  rejoice, 
that  you  now  see  your  poor  mistress  so  near  the  end  of 
all  her  troubles.    Dry  your  ^es  and  let  us  pray  together. 

After  supper,  she  called  for  her  ladies,  and  asking  for 
a  cup  of  wine,  she  drank  to  them  all,  begging  them  to 
pledge  her,  which  they  did.  upon  their  knees,  mingling 
their  tears  in  the  cup,  and  then  asking  her  forgiveness,  if 
in  anything  they  had  ofi'ended.  At  two  in  the  morning 
she  lay  down,  having  made  all  her  arrangements,  while 
her  women  watched  and  read  at  her  bedside.  Read  to  me, 
said  she,  from  the  lives  of  the  saints,  the  life  of  the  repentant 
thief  which  treats  of  dying  faith,  and  divine  compassion  : 
and  after  it  was  read  to  her,  she  remained  silent,  com- 
muning with  her  own  heart  for  some  time,  and  then  said 
— alag,  he  was  a  great  sinner,  but  not  so  great  as  I  am ! 
may  my  Saviour  in  memory  of  his  passion,  have  mercy  upon ' 
me,  as  he  had  on  him  !  At  this  moment,  remembering 
that  a  handkerchief  would  be  required  to  bind  her  eyes  at 
her  execution,  she  bid  them  bring  several,  and  selecting 
one  of  the  finest,  embroidered  in  gold,  laid  it  carefully 


28  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

iside,  then  ordered  them  to  resume  their  reading :  and  so 
passed  away  the  honrs  of  early  dawn,  until  it  was  within 
a  short  space  of  the  fatal  time.  Then  rising,  she  made  her 
toilet,  passed  into  her  oratory,  and  after  remaining  some  time 
in  earnest  prayer,  came  out,  and  awaited  in  silence  and 
perfect  composure  the  dread  summons. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Sheriff,  she  ordered  him  imme- 
diately to  turn,  and  lead  on.  Her  servants  throwing 
themselves  at  her  feet,  clasped  their  mistress  in  convulsive 
grief  around  the  knees,  endeavoring  to  stay  her  advance ; 
but  gently  disengaging  herself  she  reached  the  door : 
and  at  this  point,  the  brutal  official,  sternly  commanded 
them  to  proceed  no  farther.  Mary  remonstrated  earnestly, 
but  in  vain.  She  then  bade  them  adieu,  while  they  in 
frantic  earnestness,  clung  to  her  robes,  covering  her  hand 
with  kisses,  and  bathing  ft  with  their  tears.  They' 
were  only  taken  from  her  by  force,  and  locked  up  iu 
the  apartment.  And  there  alone,  that  undaunted  soul, 
with  a  majesty  of  port  that  awed  the  High  Sheriff,  passed 
down  the  lofty  staircase,  to  the  entrance  door  of  that 
Hall,  where  she  was  to  die.  A  dress  of  black  ratin, 
matronly  in  its  fashion,  but  passing  rich  in  its  material, 
waa  worn  that  day,  with  more  than  ordinary  grace.  A 
long  white  veil  of  crape  hung  over  her  face,  an  Agnus 
Dei  was  suspended  by  a  pomander  chain  from  her  neck, 
while  her  beads  of  gold  hung  at  her  girdle.  Like  Montrose, 

"As  a  gay  bride,  from  her  room 
Came  the  Stuart  from  her  prison, 
To  the  scaflTold,  and  the  doom. 
There  was  glory  on  her  forehead, 
There  was  lustre  in  her  eye, 
And  she  never  moved  to  battle 
*        Mor«  proudly,  than  to  die !" 


MARY,   QUEEN   OP   SCOTS.  29 

At  the  door  of  the  great  Hall,  she  was  received  by  the 
Earls  of  Shrewsbury  and  Kent,  who  to  use  their  own 
words,  "marvelled  at  the  perfect  tranquility^  and  unaffected 
grace  witk  which  she  met  them."  As  she  was  about  to 
enter  the  Hall,  one  more  touching  appeal  was  made 
by  her,  that  "  the  poor  servants  might  be  permitted 
id  see  her  die.''  At  last  even  the  flinty  hearts  of 
Shrewsbury  and  Kent,  were  moved,  and  faithful  Jane 
Kennedy,  and  Elizabeth  Curl,  together  with  her  much 
attached  physician,  were  sent  for.  She  then  entered  the 
great  Hall,  with  the  dignity  of  a  Queen ;  Melville,  who 
had  joined  her  at  the  entrance  bearing  her  train,  the 
weeping  servants  following  in  the  rear,  and  accompanying 
her  up  to  the  very  scaffold,  which  had  been  erected  at  the 
upper  part  of  the  room.  It  was  a  raised  platform  about 
two  feet  in  height,  and  twelve  broad  surrounded  by  a  rail, 
and  covered  with  black  cloth.  Upon  it  were  placed  a  low 
chair,  two  other  seats,  and  the  dreadful  block  :  By  its 
side,  stood  the  two  executioners  masked,  while  the  gleam- 
ing axe  flashed  from  between  them.  Mary  gazed  on  all 
this  dread  array,  without  the  least  change  of  countenance, 
and  smilingly  mounted  the  steps,  with  the  grace  and 
dignity  she  ever  manifested  in  ascending  the  steps  of  her 
throne.  Just  before  she  knelt  down  to  receive  the  fatal 
blow,  Kent  in  the  excess  of  his  bigotted  zeal,  and  with 
that  malicious  cruelty,  only  to  be  found  in  the  hearts  of 
religious  persecutors,  observing  her  intently  regarding  the 
crucifix,  said  in  a  harsh  tone:  "Woman!  renounce  such 
antiquated  superstitions,  that  image  of  Christ  serves  to 
little  purpose,  if  you  have  him  not  engraved  upon  your 
heart."  And  oh  !  what  a  scathing  rebuke,  was  that  meek 
and  christian-like  reply  of  the  gentle  spirit  who  stood 
there  face  to  face  with  death — "Ah!  my  Lord,  there  is 
c2 


30  i'OREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

nothing  more  becoming  a  dying  christian,  than  to  carry 
in  her  hands  the  remembrance  of  her  redemption  :  How 
impossible  my  Lord  is  it,  to  have  such  an  object  in  the 
hands,  and  keep  the  heart  unmoved."  Then  bowing  her 
head  «he  remained  some  time  in  prayer :  and  there  upon 
her  knees,  with  hands  clasped  together,  and  raised  towards 
heaven,  while  divine  serenity  lighted  up  her  beautiful 
features,  did  Mary  Stuart  invoke  forgiveness  upon  her 
persecutors.  Then  kissing  the  crucifix,  and  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  she  exclaimed,  "  as  thine  arms,  O  my 
(rod,  were  spread  out  upon  the  cross,  so  receive  me 
within  the  arms  of  thy  mercy."  She  then  repeated  that 
beautiful  Latin  prayer  composed  by  herself. 

"  O  Domine  Deus  !  speravi  in  te; 

O  care  mi  Jesu  !  nunc  libera  me, 

Id  dura  catena,  in  misera  paena  desidero  te, 

Languendo  gemendo,  et  genu  flectendo, 

Adoro!  imploro !  ut  liberesmej 

Which  might  be  paraphrased  thus ; 

"In  this  last  solemn  and  tremendous  hour, 
My  Lord  and  Saviour,  I  invoke  thy  power; 
Id  this  sad  pang  of  anguish  and  of  death. 
Receive,  O,  Lord  !  thy  suppliant's  parting  breath, 
Before  thy  hallowed  cross,  she  prostrate  lies, 
O,  hear  her  prayers,  commiserate  her  sighs. 
Extend  the  arms  of  mercy,  and  of  love. 
And  bear  her  to  thy  peaceful  realm  above." 

Scarcely  had  the  last  sad  tones  of  this  beautiful  prayer, 
died  upon  her  lips,  when  the  signal  was  given,  that  all 
was  ready.  Quickly  blindfolding  her  eyes,  she  knelt  down, 
and  groping  with  both  hands,  seemed  to  feel  eagerly  for 
the  block;  which  when  reached,  she  laid  her  slender 
neck  upon  it^  without  a  sign  of  trembling,  or  hesitation — 
Her  lasi  words,  just  before  the  dread  moment,  when 


THE   CASTLE.  31 

"The  gleaming  axe  did  part 

The.  burning  brain,  from  that  true  heart," 

were,  ^'  Into  thy  hands,  I  commend  my  spirit,  for  thou 
hast  redeemed  me,  O  Lord  God  of  Truth."  Surely,  such  a 
death,  even  in  the  estimation  of  her  bitterest  enemies, 
mu«t  have  atoned  for  all  the  errors  of  her  life— Surely, 
these  Stuarts,  if  they  knew  not  how  to  live,  had  strangely 
learned^  what  knowing  how  to  live,  always  teaches,  namely, 
how  to  die. 

In  going  to  the  Castle,  from  Holyrood,  you  pass  through 
the  Canongate  Street,  so  full  of  interesting  localities. 
Near  the  head  of  the  Canongate  stands  the  old  house, 
once  occupied  by  John  Knox.  A  small  effigy  in  stone  of 
the  reformer  rests  upon  the  projecting  angle  of  the  building. 
Over  the  door  is  the  following  admonitory  inscription; 
"  Lufe  God,  above  al,  and  your  nichbour  as,  your  .'■elf." 

An  admonition  little  heeded  by  the  stern  reformer,  if 
his  biography  is  not  a  fable.  This  old  thoroughfare,  was 
once  the  court  end  of  the  Town,  and  occupied  by  persons 
of  distinction.  It  is  now  abandoned  to  the  vilest  of  the 
vile  ;  many  of  the'  houses  are  dilapidated,  and  the  street 
flutters  in  rags  and  wretchedness. 

From  the  lofty  ramparts  of  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh, 
you  look  down  upon  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world, 
surrounded  by  scenery  that  cannot  be  surpassed.  The 
rock  on  which  this  fortress  Castle  is  built,  rises  383  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  its  battlements  towering 
ov^er  the  city,  may  be  seen  forty  or  fifty  miles.  The 
principal  buildings  now  used  as  barracks  are  at  the  South 
East  corner,  and  among  these  is  an  old  Palace,  built 
by  Queen  Mary  in  15G8.  Most  of  the  interest, 
always    excepting  the   glorious  view  from  its    summit, 


32  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

attaches  to  this  part  of  the  edifice.  Entering  by  a  door- 
way in  a  projecting  staircase,  fronting  a  quadrangle,  you 
are  conducted  into  a  small  vaulted  apartment  containing 
the  Regalia — these  objects  being  placed  on  an  oval  table, 
securely  enclosed  within  a  cage  of  upright  bars.  There 
with  the  light  of  eight  gas  burners  flashing  upon  them, 
repose  in  silent  majesty,  the  ancient  Regalia  of  Scotland 
— a  crown— a  sceptre— a  sword  of  state,  and  the  Order  of 
the  Garter  given  to  James  YL,  by  Queen  Elizabeth,  The 
crown  is  very  elegantly  formed,  the  under  part  being  a 
gold  diadem,  consisting  of  two  circles,  chased  and  adorned 
with  precious  stones,  and  pearls.  This  was  the  old  crown, 
and  once  encircled  the  brows  of  Robert  Bruce.  James 
v.,  added  two  concentric  arches  of  gold,  crossing  and 
intersecting  each  other  above  the  circles.  Upon  a  ball  of 
gold  on  the  summit,  he  placed  a  cross  adorned  with  large 
diamonds.  The  cap  or  tiara  of  the  crown  is  of  crimson 
velvet,  turned  up  with  ermine,  and  adorned  with  pearls. 
The  sceptre  is  a  slender  rod  of  silver,  chased  and  varied  in 
its  form.  The  sword  of  state  is  magnificent,  both  in  form 
and  proportion.  It  was  a  present  from  Pope  Julius  the 
II.,  to  James  IV.,  who  was  slain  at  Flodden.  Being 
wrought  in  Italy,  shortly  after  the  revival  of  art  there,  it 
is  an  exquisite  specimen  of  skill.  The  handle  is  of  silver  . 
gilt,  and  the  cross  or  guard,  wreathed  in  imitation  of 
two  dolphins,  the  scabbard  being  adorned  with  filagree 
work  of  silver,  representing  boughs  and  leaves  of  oak, 
interspersed  with  acorns.  You  cannot  fail  to  look  with 
deep  interest,  upon  those  emblems,  of  what  is  now, 
"  The  buried  meu'esty  of  Scotland." 
That  crown  had  once  pressed  the  fair  brow  of  Mary — 
that  sceptre  had  often  felt  the  grasp  of  her  beautiful  hand. 
It  was  only  a  few  years  since,  these  regalia,  were  discovered 


THE   CASTLE.    •  S3 

walled  up  in  this  very  room.  Saved  by  frieiids  of  royalty 
during  the  civil  war^  they  were  afterwards  deposited  in  a 
chest  in  this  chamber^  and  on  their  discovery,  some  thirty 
years  ago,  Sir  "Walter  Scott  made  a  very  interesting  re- 
port of  the  circumstances,  accompanied  by  a  minute 
description  of  them.  From  the  Regalia  chamber,  you 
descend  to  a  small  room  below,  where  Mary  gave  birth 
to  James  VI.,  afterwards  James  I,,  of  England,  a  most 
gloomy  looking  apartment,  about  eight  feet  square.  You 
are  at  once  attracted  by  a  portrait  of  Mary  on  the  wall, 
taken  when  in  France,  "  in  her  sweet  prime,"  just  before 
her  marriage  with  the  Dauphin.  The  face  is  perfectly 
bewitching  in  its  beauty — shaded  by  the  richest  nut 
brown  hair,  and  lighted  by  a  pair  of  the  softest  hazel  eyes, 
that  sorrow  and  suffering  had  not  dimmed.  A  face,  which 
once  seen,  like  Mariana's, 

"  Encircles  all  ihe  heart,  and  feedeth 
All  the  senses,  with  a  still  delight." 

An  original  portrait  of  her  son,  hangs  near  it,  a  long 
thin  faced  man,  with  a  brow,  upon  which  time  and  sor- 
row, seem  to  have  driven  their  plcughthares  deeply. 

On  the  Bomb  Battery  of  the  Castle,  stands  the  national 
palladium  of  Scotland,  "  Mens  Meg."  This  gun  is  com- 
posed of  long  bars  of  beaten  iron,  hooped  together  by  a 
series  of  rings,  measuring  twenty  inches  in  the  bore.  It 
was  first  used  in  1498,  by  James  IV.,  in  the  siege  of 
Norham  Castle  on  the  borders,  and  was  rent  in  1(382,  while 
firing  a  salute  j  since  which  period  it  has  been  useless.  Edin- 
burgh  Castle  is  one  of  the  Forts,  enjoined  by  the  Treaty 
of  Union,  to  be  kept  up  in  Scotland, 


CHAPTER  n. 

Melrose  Abbey  —  Abbotsford  —  Dryburgh, 

Melrose  Abbey  is  now  reached  by  Railwaj,  from  Edm* 
btirgh,  a  distance  of  some  thirty-seven  miles.  Melrose 
itself  is  a  charming  village,  nestling  in  the  loveliest  of 
valleys.  A  ten  minutes  walk  from  the  Railway  station, 
down  a  little  narrow  street;  bjings  you  face  to  face  with 
the  celebrated  Abbey  ruin,  like 

"  Some  tall  rock,  with  lichen  gray," 
it  rises  before  you.  Aside  from  its  situation,  it  is  the 
loveliest  pile  of  monastic  ruins  the  eye  can  contemplate, 
or  the  imagination  conceive  of.  The  windows,  and 
.especially  the  glorious  East  window,  with  all  its  elaborate 
tracery,  are  certainly  unsurpassed,  as  specimens  of  gothic 
architecture.  In  the  old  cloisters  are  seven  niches,  orna- 
mented with  sculptured  foliage,  and  reminding  one  of 
those  lines  of  Scott,  so  life-like  in  their  description  : 

"  Spreading  herbs,  and  flowerets  bright, 
Glistened  with  the  dews  of  night; 
No  herb,  nor  floweret,  glistened  there. 
But  was  carved  in  cloistered  arch  as  fair." 

Each  glance  at  the  glorious  East  window,  recalls  in 
like  manner,  the  stanzas  from  the  same  poem ; 

"The  moon  on  the  East  oriel  shone, 

Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliaged  tracery  combined  ; 

Thou  would'st  have  thought  some  fairy's  hand 

'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  o^ier  wand. 

In  many  a  freakish  knot,  had  twip^d ; 

Then  framed  a  spell,  when  the  work  was  done. 

And  changed  the  willow  wreaths,  to  btoiie," 


MELROSE  ABBEY.  35 

Melrose  Abbey  was  founded  by  David  I.,  of  Scotland, 
somewhere  in  the  year  1136.  The  English  on  their 
retreat  under  Edward  II.,  devastated  it,  and  left  hardly 
one  stone  upon  another.  Eour  years  after  this  act  of 
vandalism,  the  celebrated  Robert  Bruce,  by  a  tax  on  the 
Baronies  of  the  Realm,  rebuilt  it  in  a  style  of  magnificence, 
far  surpassing  its  former  state.  The  present  ruin  which 
is  a  mere  fragment  of  the  perfect  edifice  in  Bruce's  timej 
clearly  manifests  by  tbe  rich  tracery  of  its  windows,  and 
the  elaborate  carvings  of  the  pilasters  of  its  capitals,  that 
it  must  have  been  among  the  most  perfect  works,  of  the 
best  age  of  that  description  of  ecclesiastical  architecture  to 
which  it  belongs.  The  entire  edifice  suffered  very  much 
during  the  Scottish  reformation,  from  the  insane  zeal  of 
the  religious  fanatics  of  that  period  j  and  after  several 
devastations,  the  entire  property  of  the  Abbey  passed  into 
the  hands  of  the  family  of  Buccleuch,  near  the  middle  of 
the  seventeenth  century — where  it  has  ever  since  remained. 
The  ruins  of  the  church  alone,  with  remnants  of  the  clois- 
ters, are  now  all  that  exist  of  the  extensive  buildings 
of  the  once  magnificent  Abbey.  The  portions  remaining  of 
the  church,  which  is  in  the  cruciform  shape,  are  the  choir, 
and  transept — the  west  side,  and  fragments  of  the  north 
and  south  walls  of  the  great  tower,  part  of  the  nave,  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  southern  aisle,  and  part  of  the  north 
aisle.  Within  its  moss  grown  area,  broken  slabs  tell 
where  repose  many  a  warrior,  and  venerable  priest. 
Under  the  East  window  a  slab  of  marble,  greenish  in  its 
hue,  with  petrified  shells  imbedded  in  it,  marks  the  last 
resting  place  of  Alexander  II.,  of  Scotland.  Here  too, 
beneath  where  once  the  high  altar,  glittered  with  its  rich 
gifts,  was  placed  '^  the  low  and  lonely  tim"  of  the  brave 


36  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS- 

Douglass,  who  encountered  Harry  Percy  in  the  bloody 
fight  of  Otterburne  :  That  grey  slab,  marks  the  spot 
where  they  laid  *'  the  dark  Knight  of  Liddcsdale,"  down  to 
sleep  among  the  bones  of  the  long  line  of  his  noble  ances- 
tors of  the  House  of  Douglass,  so  famed  in  Scottish  song, 
and  story.  And  they  still  show  the  spot  where  the  grave's 
huge  portal  expanded  before  the  iron  bar  of  "William  of 
Delorainc,  when  he  looked  into  the  vault,  and  saw  before 

him 

"  The  wizard  lay, 
As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day." 

and  from  which,  the  light  of  that  mystic  lamp  beside  his 

knee, 

"Broke  forth  so  gloriously, 
Streamed  upwards  to  the  chancel  roof, 
And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof! 
No  earthly  flame  blazed  e'er  so  bright; 
It  shone  like  heaven's  own  blessed  light." 

It  is  while  lingering  in  spots  like  these,  the  favorite  haunts 
of  Scott,  and  which  he  has  made  memorable  by  his 
genius;  that  one  learns  to  appreciate  his  wonderful 
powers  of  description.  As  you  stand  in  the  ruined  aisles 
of  Melrose,  and  look  round;  there  are  the  corbels,  "carved 
Bo  grotesque  and  grim" — the  shafts  of  the  columns  look- 
ing as  the  poet  so  aptly  describes  them,  like 

"Bundles  of  lances,  which  garlands  had  botind;" 

Arid  there,  the  cloistered  arches  with  the  foliage  upon 
their  capitals,  so  nicely  chiselled,  that  fairy's  hand  might 
well  h?ive  traced  thom,  and  magic  spell  changed  them 
when  the  work  was  done,  to  stone. 

But  Time  the  great  dcvourer  has  been  too  surely  doing 
his  work  on  this  old  pile — gnawing  at  the  edges  of  the 
ancient  fret-work,  crumbling  the  top  from  some  buttress 


MELROSE  ABBEY.  3Y 

pinnacle;  or  stripping  the  leaves  of  stone,  off  some  ancient 
capital.  Sunlight  and  moonlight^  ailike  no  doubt,  suit 
this  graceful  ruin :  by  day  its  colors  are  richer,  but  to 
visit  it  aright,  one  must  no  doubt  go  there  by  the  pale 
moonlight — for  on  every  ruin  that  I  noticed^  the  moon's 
rays  appear  to  have  a  harmonizing  power;  edges  of  masonry 
soften,  harsh  tints  are  mellowed  down,  arches  transmit  a 
silvery  light,  and  buttresses  throw  a  deeper  shadow. 
That  which  in  the  full  glare  of  noon,  had  a  matter  of  fact 
appearance,  under  the  wierd  influence  of  moonlight,  puts 
on  the  garb  of  romance,  and  becomes  at  the  same  time 
dream-like  and  real — a  dumb  min,  yet  a  speaking  portent. 
Standing  within  the  shadow  of  such  a  pile  as  Melrose, 
thoughts  come  upon  you,  that  will  not  down  at  a  bidding. 
Those  skeleton  windows,  once  through  their  gorgeous 
medium  of  glass,  stained  with  prismatic  hues,  the  marble 
floor  of  this  ruined  nave.  These  aisles,  once  resounded 
with  the  pealing  anthem  of  white  robed  choirs :  Here, 
was  the  solemn  and  hurley  Abbot,  and  the  dark  files  of 
cowled  monks,  and  a  vassal  peasantry  crowded  at  an 
awful  distance  from  their  holy  superiors.  On  some  high 
festival,  how  have  these  lofty  arches  shone  with  the  glare 
of  torches — and  this  grass  grown  nave  exhibited  its  long 
perspective  of  brilliant  and  solemn  colors,  venerable  forms, 
and  awful  symbols.  Then  came  the  age,  (as  it  is  now,)  when 
children  loitered,  and  clambered  among  the  ruins,  and  the 
sheep  fed  quietly  round  broken  'images,  and  the  defaced 
carved  work  of  the  sanctuary  :  And  again  with  what  an 
exultant  joy,  must  the  decay  of  this  noble  fabric,  have 
been  surveyed  by  the  stern  soldiery  of  the  Covenant — while 
perhaps  some  highly  gifted,  and  many  scarred  trooper, 
placing  himself  upon  a  mass  of  the  ruin,  may  have  dis- 


38  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

coursed  with  his  Bible  in  one  hand,  and  his  dented  sword 
in  the  other,  upon  the  mansions  of  the  heavenly  Jerusalem, 
which  the  elect  were  to  inherit ;  then  warming  with  his 
subject,  amid  the  shattered  buttresses,  and  roofless  aisles, 
might  have  led  the  grim  enthusiasts  beneath  him,  in  a 
hymn  of  thanksgiving  and  triumph,  for  the  fall  of  Babylon, 
and  the  destruction  of  the  high  places  of  idolatry  in  the 
land.  As  a  ruin,  Melrose  is  now  softened,  made  beautiful, 
and  inspired  with  one  consistent  character  and  soul  by  the 
overgrowth  of  luxuriant  ivy.  The  green  foliage  of  trees, 
wave  dappled  shadows  over  the  walls,  and  weed  matted 
area  within ;  and  Melrose  Abbey,  with  its  broken  columns, 
shattered  arches,  and  crumbled  ornaments,  seems  to  have 
become  a  portion  of  universal  nature,  an  original  member 
of  the  landscape,  in  which  it  stands,  born  of  the  same 
mother,  and  in  the  same  generation  as  the  ivy  which 
crowns,  the  trees  which  overshadow,  and  the  blue  sky, 
and  bright  sun  which  illumine,  and  smile  upon  it.  The 
gray  mossy  stones,  now  look  as  if  they  had  grown  up  like 
the  hills  and  woods  around,  by  some  internal  energy  from 
the  centre,  and  expanded  themselves  amid  co-operating 
elements  into  a  pile  of  silent  loveliness — a  place  for  solemn 
and  lonely  meditation,  fit  for  the  quiet  reveries  of  the 
idly  active,  or  the  high  and  varied  fancies  of  the  poet. 
Those  green  and  stately  plants,  and  the  rich  leaved 
creepers,  which  enwreath  and  robe  every  pointed  arch, 
and  slender  column,  and  wrap  the  harsh  grey  fragments 
of  walls,  have  taken  away  all  the  roughness  and  soreness 
of  desolation  from  the  pile;  and  kindly  nature,  which 
manifests  itself  with  so  much  glory  in  the  heavens  above, 
and  so  much  sublimity  in  the  rich  landscape  around, 
seems  to  press  with  her  soft  embrace,  and  hallows  with 


ABBOTSFORD.  39 

the  serenity  of  her  fresh  beauty,  the  mouldering  remains 
of  the  Abbey  of  Melrose. 

Abbotsford,  is  but  five  miles  from  Melrose.  The 
scenery  around  the  Poet's  retreat,  is  exceedingly  impres- 
sive. Every  mountain  and  streamlet,  seem  to  tell  of  the 
departed  bard.  There,  are  the  "Eildon  Hills," — there,  the 
Gala  water, 

"Chafing,  as  it  joins  the  Tweed;" 

Yonder  are  "the  bonny  Braes  of  Yarrow,' '  and  the  "Vale 
of  Ettrick.''  The  home  of  the  Poet,  occupies  a  crest  of  the 
last  of  a  broken  series  of  hills,  descending  from  Eildon  to  the 
Tweed,  whose  silvery  stream  it  overhangs.  The  grounds 
are  richly  wooded,  and  diversified  with  an  endless  variety 
of  bushy  dells,  and  alleys  green  :  while  through  all,  the 
beautiful  bright  river  wanders,  giving  an  exquisite  finish 
to  the  picture — needing  no  association  "whatever,  only  its 
own  intrinsic  loveliness,  to  leave  its  image  indelibly  im- 
pressed upon  the  mind.  Entering  the  grounds  through  a 
Norman  archway,  in  an  embattled  wall,  you  approach  the 
mansion  by  a  broad  and  trellised  walk,  o'ershadowed  with 
roses  and  honeysuckles.  The  externals  of  the  mansion, 
defy  description.  At  each  -end  rises  a  tall  tower,  the  one 
totally  diff"erent  from  the  other,  while  the  entire  front  is 
nothing  more  than  an  assemblage  of  gables,  parapets,  eaves, 
indentations,  and  water-spouts,  with  droll  corbel  heads, 
painted  windows,  and  Elizabethan  chimneys,  flung  toge- 
ther in  the  perfect  wantonness  of  architectural  irregula- 
rity. A  noble  porchway  admits  visitors  to  the  Hall  of 
Entrance,  which  is  lighted  by  two  large  windows,  each 
pane  deeply  dyed  with  glorious  armorial  bearings.     The 


40  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

apartment  is  about  forty  feet  in  length,  twenty  in  breadth, 
and  the  same  in  height.  Round  the  cornice  there  is  a 
line  of  coats-armorial,  richly  blazoned,  belonging  to  the 
families  who  kept  the  borders — as  the  Douglasses,  Kers, 
Scotts,  Turnbulls,  Maxwells,  Elliotts,  and  Armstrongs. 
The  walls  are  of  dark,  richly  carved  oak,  from  Dun- 
fermline, and  the  roof  is  formed  by  a  series  of  pointed 
arches;  from  the  centre  of  each  of  which,  hang  richly 
emblazoned  armorial  shields.  The  floor  is  paved  with 
black  and  white  marble,  brought  from  the  Hebrides.  Mag- 
nificent suits  of  armor — a  helmet  and  cuirass  of  one  of 
the  Imperial  Guard,  with  a  hole  in  the  breast-plate,  where 
the  death-dealing  bullet  entered  at  Waterloo — a  profusion 
of  swords  and  spears  of  every  shape  and  pattern,  are  sus- 
pended around  the  walls,  or  occupy  the  niches;  From  this 
Hall,  you  pass  into  the  private  study  of  the  Poet;  a  snug 
little  room,  with  cases  full  of  books  of  reference.  Here, 
stands  the  high  table,  upon  which  so  many  of  his  charming 
works  were  written;  while  from  the  old  fashioned  ink- 
stand, towers  the  pen,  made  from  an  eagle's  quill — the  last 
he  ever  used.  A  small  gallery  runs  round  this  apartment, 
leading  to  the  door  of  his  bed-chamber.  A  side  door  in 
this  study  admits  you  to  the  library,  a  most  magnificent 
apartment  at  least  fifty  feet  in  length,  and  thirty  in  height; 
•with  an  immense  bay  window  in  the  centre,  from  which  a 
most  charming  view  is  had  of  the  surrounding  country. 
The  roof  is  of  richly  carved  oak,  as  are  also  the  bookcases, 
which  reach  high  up  the  Tfall.  The  collection  of  books  in 
this  chamber  amounts  to  some  twenty  thousand ;  many  of 
them  extremely  rare  and  valuable.  At  the  head  of  the 
Library,  upon  a  column  of  choice  marble,  stands  a  bust  of 
the  Poet,  from  Chantry's  chisel,  a   most   life-like    and 


ABBOTSrORD.  41 

powerful  head,  with  a  brow  that  looks  the  very  throne  of 
Genius.  Connected  with  the  Library  is  the  Armory :  Here 
may  be  seen,  a  variety  of  curious  weapons — Rob  Roy's 
gun,  Hofer's  blunderbuss,  the  pistols  of  Napoleon,  cap- 
tured at  Waterloo ;  and  divers  Indian  spears  and  toma- 
hawks. From  the  Armory  you  pass  into  the  Breakfast 
Boom,  the  favorite  chamber  of  Sir  Walter;  and  well  it 
might  be  the  favorite  haunt  of  such  a  lover  of  natural 
scenery — for,  from  its  magnificent  window,  the  eye  is  en- 
tranced by  the  view  of  that  landscape,  whose  marvellous 
beauty  enkindled  the  fires  of  his  imagination.  It  was  in 
this  room  the  Poet  died.  Here  was  the  scene,  so  touch- 
ingly  described  by  Lockhart,  when  the  Poet,  like  the  deer, 
"had  returned  to  die,"  in  the  place  "where  he  was 
roused.'^ 

"I  was  dressing,"  says  Lockhart,  "when  on  Monday, 
early  in  the  morning,  Nicholson  came  into  my  room,  and 
told  me  that  his  master  had  awoke  in  a  state  of  composure, 
and  wished  to  see  me;  I  found  him  entirely  himself,  but 
in  the  last  stage  of  feebleness.  His  eye  was  clear  and 
calm.  ^  Lockhart,'  said  he,  '  I  may  have  but  a  minute  to 
speak  to  you — -my  dear,  be  a  good  man — be  virtuous,  be 
religious — nothing  else  will  give  you  comfort,  when  you 
come  to  lie  here — God  bless  you  all;'  with  this  he  sank 
into  a  quiet  sleep,  and  scarcely  afterwards  gave  any  sign  of 
consciousness.  About  half-past  one  o'clock  of  the  same 
day,  he  quietly  breathed  his  last,  in  the  presence  of  his 
children.  It  was  a  beautiful  day;  so  warm,  that  every 
window  was  wide  open,  and  so  perfectly  still,  that  the 
sound  of  all  others,  the  most  delicious  to  his  ear,  the  gentle 
ripple  of  the  Tweed  over  its  pebbles,  waa  distinctly  audible 

d2 


42 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


as  we  knelt  around  the  bed;  and  his  eldest  son  kissed  and 
closed  his  ejes.  No  sculptor  ever  modelled  a  more  majes- 
tic image  of  repose." 

The  Dining  Room,  adjoining  the  Breakfast  Chamber,  is 
a  very  handsome  apartment.  It  contains  a  fine  collection  of 
pictures,  one  of  which  at  once  rivets  the  attention.  It  is  a 
painting  of  the  head  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  on  a  char- 
ger; sketched  the  morning  of  her  execution,  shortly  after 
her  beautiful  head  had  fallen  beneath  the  executioner's 
stroke,  The  head  is  laid  upon  the  centre  of  the  dish,  and 
placed  in  an  oblique  position,  with  the  ghastly  neck  nearest 
the  spectator,  so  that  the  nose  is  fore  shortened,  and  the 
nostrils  front  you.  Such  a  position  must  have  been  a  very 
difficult  one  for  artistic  effect.  Yet  with  all  the  disadvan- 
tages, the  artist  has  achieved  wonders.  In  spite  of  the 
fore-shortening,  in  spite  of  the  livid  hue  of  death,  the  face 
is  superlatively  beautiful ;  and  in  gazing  at  it,  one  can  be- 
lieve any  tale  of  the  witchery  of  her  loveliness.  The  dark 
hair  parted  on  the  noble  brow,  rolls  downward  in  luxuriant 
waves,  as  if  to  hide  the  ghastly  evidences  of  decapitation. 
The  nose,  of  the  finest  Grecian  form,  descends  from  the 
broad  brow,  which  bears  that  ^'width  of  ridge,"  Lavater  said, 
"was  worth  a  kingdom."  The  eyebrows  are  exquisitely 
arched  above  the  closed  eyelids,  from  bcnea'.h  which,  you 
can  almost  fancy  you  discern  the  gleam  of  dark  melancholy 
eyes.  The  mouth  is  slightly  open,  and  though  somewhat 
swollen  by  suffering,  is  of  exquisite  formation.  The  whole 
picture  is  terrible,  yet  lovely — a  perfect  image  of  death 
by  violence— of  beauty,  unsubdued  by  pain.  An  adjoin- 
ing apartment  contains  portraits  of  the  Scott  family,  and 
two  most  interesting  ones  of  Sir  Walter,  when  a  babe,  and 


DRYBURGH.  48 

in  early  boyhood.    In  the  open,  genial,  and  bright  face  of 
the  boy,  one  may  read,  that 

"The  child  is  Father  of  the  man."     • 

From  Abbotsford,  you  retrace  your  steps  to  Melrose, 
and  so  on  to  Dryburgh,  the  last  resting  place  of  him,  whose 
spell  is  on  you,  as  you  tread  each  spot  haunted  by  the 
memorials  of  his  genius. 

Dry  burgh  is  a  venerable  ruin,  now  much  defaced  by  the 
band  of  Time.  The  Poet  sleeps  beneath  a  low  table  mon- 
ument, in  St.  Mary's  aisle,  (the  most  beautiful  part  of  the 
ruin)  by  the  side  of  his  faithful  wife :  while  many  an  added 
stone,  now  show,  where  cut  off  in  life's  prime,  sleep  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  his  House — that  House,  he  hoped  to 
establish,  so  that  it  should  transmit  his  name  and  fame  to 
generations.  When  one  remembers  how  Scott  hungered 
and  thirsted  after  a  title,  and  longed  to  be  the  founder  of 
a  great  name,  that  should  be  handed  down  through  a  long 
line ;  and  then  looks  upon  the  tablets  in  this  ruined  tran- 
sept, the  line  of  the  Christian  poet  springs  instinctively  to 
his  lips; 

•'  He  builds  too  low,  who  builds  beneath  the  skies." 

As  you  stand  by  the  grave,  and  memory  calls  up  in  rapid 
succession,  the  trials  and  triumphs  of  a  life  so  full  of  inte- 
rest, one  can  almost  imagine  the  Muse  of  Scotland,  her 
head  crowned  with  Cypress,  and  her  Harp  at  her  feet, 
repeating  the  following  invocation  : 

Ye  splendid  visions  of  the  shadowy  night! 
Ye  spectral  forms,  that  float  in  fields  of  light ! 
Spirits  of  beauty,  that  in  mid  air  dwell, 
Come  to  the  shrine  of  Him,  who  loved  you  wellj 


44  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Shades  of  departed  heroes,  from  the  tomb, 

Covered  with  dust  of  ages,  hither  come: 

In  your  bright  panoply,  and  crested  might, 

Such  as  he  called  you  forth  to  life  and  light. 

And  ye.  too,  brethren  of  the  cloistered  vow! 

And  ye,  pale  sisterhood,  that  loved  to  bow 

Your  virgin  beauties  to  the  holy  thrall; 

Come  to  this  festival  of  death — come  all! 

Ye  mighty  ones  of  earth,  uncrown  your  brows, 

A  mightier  head  lies  here,  and  sweeter  vows 

Than  ever  king  received,  embalm  this  spot. 

Where  sleeps  th«  Wizard  of  the  North,  immortal  Scott. 

Come!  sportive  lovers  of  the  moonlight  hour, 

Ye  fairies,  that  obedient  to  his  power, 

Played  off  your  merry  pranks  in  hall  and  bower." 

*  ^  *  *  * 

But  chief  of  all,  come  Nature's  holy  wells, 

Yielding  your  silver  tribute,  freshest  bells 

Plucked  from  the  blooming  heather,  echoes  fair, 

Chaunting  his  golden  lays,  till  earth  and  air, 

Are  full  or  melody.     Come  all! — come  all! 

Ye  nations  too,  come  at  the  solemn  call! 

And  first  his  own  dear  land,  bring  offerings  meet, 

Such  as  his  spirit  loved,  bright  flowers  and  sweet. 

For  he  has  sung  your  beauties;  he  has  thrown 

A  magic  round  them,  greater  than  their  own ; 

'Till  not  a  mountain,  reared  its  head  unsung. 

Come  then!  awake  the  harp,  and  let  earth  ring. 

With  one  deep  dirge  of  woe,  from  voice  and  string. 


CHAPTER    III. 

IN    LONDON. 

A  View  oi  the  City,  from"  "Waterloo  Bridge  —  Excursion  on  the 
Thames  —  St.  Mary's  Overies  —  The  Tabard  Inn— Temple 
Church. 

The  great  Babylon,  is  seen  to  advantage,  from  many 
of  the  noble  bridges  spanning  the  Thames.  Among 
them  may  be  mentioned  Blackfriars;  observed  from  which 
St.  Paul's  has  by  far  the  most  imposing  effect,  while  some 
of  the  more  ancient  parts  of  the  City  lie  in  close  proxi- 
mity. But  by  far  the  finest  point  of  observation,  is  from 
Waterloo  Bridge,  from  which  the  view  on  a  clear,  bright 
morning,  is  certaioly  very  fine.  Beneath  you,  in  Words- 
worth's charming  words, 

"  The  river  wanders  at  its  own  sweet  will." 

'  The  thickly  clustered  houses  on  every  side,  proclaim  the 
vast  population  of  the  City ;  and  the  numerous  towers  and 
steeples,  more  than  fifty  of  which,  together  with  five 
bridges,  are  visible  from  this  spot,  testify  to  its  architectu- 
ral wealth.  The  features  of  the  south  shore,  on  the  right 
hand  are  comparatively  flat  and  uninteresting,  there  being 
on  this  side  of  the  river,  few  other  buildings  besides  tim- 
ber wharfs,  tall  chimneys,  and  erections  belonging  to  the 
worst  part  of  London.  The  ancient  Church  of  St.  Mary 
Overies,  with  its  four  pointed  spires,  and  square  tower,  is 


46  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

the  only  object  of  interest.  There  the  good  old  Poet  Gower, 
Chaucer's  honored  master,  sleeps  awaiting  the  resurrection 
mom.  There  too,  reposes  Cardinal  Beaufort,  that  wealthy 
and  ambitious  prelate,  whose  death-bed  has  been  painted 
by  Shakspeare  in  such  awful  colors  : 

*'  Lord  Cardinal,  if  thou  think'st  on  heaven's  bliss, 
Hold  up  thy  hand!  make  signal  of  thy  hope: 
He  dies — and  makes  no  sign." 

Beneath  its  venerable  roof  assembled  the  Papist  com- 
mission to  try  heretics — and  on  its  sacred  floor,  Smithfield's 
noblest  martyr,  Eodgers,  received  sentence  of  death,  by  fire. 
"Within  its  hallowed  cemetery,  close  by  its  ancient  wall, 
sleeps  Beaumont's  *Hwin  worthy,"  Fletcher,  while  in  close 
communion  with  such  honored  dust  lies  Massinger. 

On  the  north  shore  of  the  river,  the  features  of  the 
view  are  impressive  in  the  extreme.  In  the  foreground, 
with  its  noble  terrace  overlooking  the  water,  Somerset 
House  stretches  magnificently  along  the  river.  Farther  on, 
*' Temple  Gardens,"  with  their  trees  and  verdure  down  to 
the  water's  edge,  contrast  refreshingly  with  the  masses  of 
brick  and  stone  around.  Glancing  over  the  graceful  stee- 
ple of  St.  Bride's  Church,  St.  Paul's  towers  above  every 
object,  as  it  were  with  paternal  dignity;  its  huge  cupola 
forming  the  most  imposing  feature  in  the  scene.  Behind 
these,  among  a  cluster  of  spires  and  towers,  rises  the  tall 
shaft  of  that  Monument  which  "  lifted  its  head  to  lie," 
when  it  ascribed  the  great  fire  of  London  to  the  Papists. 
And  there,  close  along  the  water's  edge,  in  gloomy  mag- 
nificence, you  may  behold  the  pointed  towers  of  the  once 
great  State  Prison  of  England,  so  pregnant  with  associa- 
tions of  the  romantic  and  fearful;  while  the  extreme  dis- 
tance presents  a  bristling  forest  of  masts,  belonging  to 


LONDON.  47 

every  nation.  Turning  westward  and  looking  up  the  river, 
several  objects  of  interest  meet  the  eye.  The  Lambeth 
shore  is  marked  by  little,  except  a  lion-surmounted  brew- 
ery, which  somewhat  relieves  its  monotony.  The  sombre 
dome  of  Bethlehem  Hospital,  is  seen  behind,  fraught  with 
the  most  gloomy  associations,  while  Lambeth  Palace  rears 
its  towers  in  the  distance,  interesting  as  the  scene  of  so 
many  Church  Councils,  and  within  whose  walls,  Wyckliffe 
the  first  Reformer,  read  his  startling  doctrines,  after  he  had 
been  previously  cited  at  St.  Paul's.  On  the  opposite  side 
is  the  interesting  locality  of  the  Savoy,  reminding  us  of 
good  old  Geoffrey  Chancer ;  for  here  he  resided  so  long, 
under  the  protection  of  the  Duke  of  Gaunt,  and  his  amia- 
ble Blanche.  Here  he  composed  some  of  the  sweetest  of 
his  poems. 

Still  farther  on,  stands  Hungerford  Market,  while  behind 
rise  the  Column  of  Nelson  and  the  towers  of  Westminster, 
the  great  national  Walhalla,  And  there  too,  stretching 
their  vast  length  along  the  waterside,  with  a  dignity  and 
grandeur  befitting  their  high  vocation,  are  the  new  Houses 
of  Parliament. 

As  the  busy  eye  glances  around  from  spot  to  spot,  and 
from  spire  to  spire,  how  the  recollections  of  the  past  crowd 
upon  the  mind.  The  Tower,  which  forms  so  prominent 
a  feature  in  the  distance,  how  much  of  history  and  ro- 
mance does  it  suggest.  Kings,  Queens,  Statesmen,  form 
the  almost  unbroken  line  of  its  captives  for  five  or 
six  centuries.  There  is  hardly  a  single  great  event  in 
English  history,  where  this  gloomy  edifice  does  not  loom 
forth  in  terrible  distinctness — and  scarce  an  ancient  family 
in  England,  to  which  it  has  not  bequeathed  some  fearful 
and  ghastly  memories. 


48  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

How  many  associations  are  awakened  at  the  siglit  of 
Temple  Gardens  !  There,  in  former  times,  proudly  lived 
in  splendor,  the  Knights  Templar;  and  the  admirers  of 
*^  the  Essays  of  Elia,"  will  not  forget,  that  close  by  was 
the  residence  of  good  Charles  Lamb.  Farther  on,  and 
near  the  water  side  stands  the  little  Chapel,  whei-e  Milton 
was  baptized ;  and  nearly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  is  the  site  of  the  celebrated  "  Globe  Theatre,"  so 
intimately  -connected  with  the  lives  and  early  fortunes  of 
Shakspeare,  and  "rare  Ben  Johnson." 

The  sight  of  the  venerable  Towers  of  Westminster,  evoke 
feelings  of  deep  interest.  Who  can  stand  within  the 
shadow  of  its  ancient  pile,  without  being  overwhelmed  by 
the  solemnity  of  its  associations  ?  How  are  you  impressed 
with  solemn  and  religious  veneration,  at  the  thought  of 
the  uses  to  which  it  has  been  applied ;  the  great  events  of 
which  it  has  been  the  witness?  Here  are  crowned  the 
monarchs  of  England  ;  and  here  all  their  pomp  and  vanity 
fled  away,  they  moulder  like  their  subjects.  Amid  such 
en  assemblage  of  architectural  grandeur,  as  the  Abbey 
presents,  the  mind  is  filled  with  a  rich  confusion  of  im- 
agery, as  if  incapable  of  grappling  with  the  whole.  To 
use  the  words  of  quaint  Thomas  Miller,  "  it  seems  like 
the  sunlight,  that  flames  through  the  deep  dyed  win- 
dows— you  stand  amid  the  dazzle  of  blaze  and  brightness, 
that  appears  to  have  neither  beginning  or  end,  Here  flash- 
ing like  gold  J  there  stealing  into  the  dim  purple 
twilight,  and  gilding  as  it  passes  a  shrine,  or  a  stony 
shroud,  then  settling  down  amid  the  vaulted  shadows 
of  the  tomb ;  or  just  lighting  faintly  in  its  passage  upon 
the  uplifted  hands  of  the  recumbent  image  that  have  been 
clasped  for  centuries,  in  the  attitude  of  silent  prayer.     And 


THE  THAMES.  40 

there  too  is  the  Poet's  Corner,  a  spot  haunted  by  sad  and 
sweet  associations.  In  it  stands  the  massy  and  solemn 
looking  tomb  of  Chaucer,  that  morning  star  of  English 
poetry.  He,  the  earliest  child  of  English  song,  was  the 
first  bard  interred  within  this  great  national  mausoleum. 
The  monument  was  erected  shortly  after  his  death,  and 
there  is  a  look  about  it,  which  would  seem  to  indicate  an 
antiquity  almost  as  great  as  that  of  the  Abbey  itself 

Gentle  Spencer  is  the  next  heir  to  undying  fame,  in- 
terred within  this  great  national  Walhalla;  and  Shaks- 
peare  and  "rare  Ben  Johnson"  bedewed  the  flag  stones 
around  that  tomb  with  tears,  as  they  stood  mourners 
about  his  bier.  Beaumont  and  Drayton  were  the  next 
who  sank  into  this  city  of  the  illustrious  dead.  The  last 
great  poet  the  vault  opened  to  receive,  was  Campbell, 
whose  head  almost  touches  the  feet  of  Chaucer. 

But  leaving  the  Bridge,  where  such  an  interesting  view 
unfolds,  and  such  pleasant  memories  are  awakened,  let  us 
direct  our  steps  toward  Hungerford  Stairs,  for  a  short 
excursion  on  the  Thames,  to  pay  our  tribute  to  the  last 
resting  place  of  (xower,  who  sleeps  beneath  the  stone  pave- 
ment of  St.  Saviour's.  The  barges  moored  side  by  side, 
here  at  the  stairs,  have  little  safety,  and  still  less  conve- 
nience :  but  a  glance  around  us,  when  we  have  reached 
them,  affords  abundant  amusement.  A  small  knot  of 
people  in  one  corner,  have  been  momentarily  increasing, 
evidently  waiting  for  a  special  boat.  A  portly  matron 
with  a  collection  of  well-stored  baskets — a  group  of  city 
reared  children,  cared  for  by  a  very  small  Cinderella-like 
serving  maid — a  thin  nervous  gentleman,  and  ourselves 
make  up  the  party,  that  set  foot  upon  the  dark,  dingy 
little  steamer,  bound  for  different  points  along  the  river. 

E 


50  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

We  start  off  with  great  rapidity.  Let  us  note  as  rapidly 
as  we  are  going,  each  point  of  interest  as  we  pass.  Look  I 
but  a  stone's  throw  from  the  pier,  is  a  Water  Gate, 
now  out  of  use,  and  when  the  tide  is  low,  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  stream — banks  of  mud  surround  it,  on  which 
here  and  there  are  thick,  dank  beds  of  reedy  grass.  That 
Water  Gate  is  clearly  a  by-gone,  having  outlived  its  origi- 
nal purpose.  It  is  the  only  remnant  of  a  once  princely 
mansion,  and  in  its  day,  was  vaunted  as  the  most  perfect 
specimen  of  architecture,  fashioned  by  the  hand  of  the 
celebrated  Inigo  Jones.  It  was  the  river  gate  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  The  rustic  basement, 
and  graceful  columns,  still  attest  the  taste  and  skill  of 
the  architect:  but  cankered  lock  and  rusty  hinges,  tell 
that  its  day  of  usefulness  is  gone,  with  the  old  palatial 
mansion,  to  which  it  was  an  appendage.  Its  aspect  of 
neglect,  if  not  of  ruin,  revives  the  memory  of  by-gone 
times  and  manners,  throwing  the  mind  back  to  the  days 
when  the  bank  of  the  river  was  lined  with  the  mansions 
of  the  nobility;  when  the  Strand  from  Temple  Bar  to 
Westminster,  was  an  open  road,  and  the  Thames  the 
King's  Highway  between  the  Teipple  and  Westminster 
Palace ;  when  each  house  fronting  the  stream  boasted  of 
its  "  Water  Gate,"  and  gilded  barges  floated  on  the  tide, 
upon  "  the  silent  highway,"  while  liveried  menials  waited 
their  Lords'  pleasure  at  the  stairs. 

There  are  some  exceedingly  interesting  associations 
connected  with  this  portion  of  the  Thames.  York  House 
which  once  fronted  the  River,  almost  at  the  very  point 
from  which  we  started,  offers  its  share  of  stirring  memo- 
ries. The  first  breath  of  Francis  Bacon  was  drawn  within 
its  walls;  and  through  its  terraced  walks  he  disported  in 


THE  THAMES.  51 

childhood.  In  York  House  he  passed  his  boyhood's  happy 
days,  and  ere  the  sorrows  of  manhood  had  shaded  his 
brow,  he  left  it  to  engage  in  a  vain  strife  for  intellectual 
supremacy  and  empty  worldly  renown.  Both  were  ac- 
quired and  built  up  by  the  splendor  of  his  achievements, 
and  he  returned  to  sacrifice  to  false  ambition,  all  his 
vaunted  nobleness  of  purpose,  after  forty  years  of  struggle 
against  poverty,  rivalry,  envy;  and  last,  though  not  least, 
the  baseness  of  his  own  moral  nature.  After  nearly  half 
a  century  spent  in  enduring  duns  and  arrests  for  debt, 
suffering  insult  from  Coke,  his  rival  in  the  law,  and  in 
love — libelled  by  rumor,  and  frowned  upon  by  his  sove- 
reign, he  came  back  to  this  home  of  his  boyhood.  When 
he  again  left  it,  guards  were  around  him,  and  he  departed 
thence  to  the  Tower.  His  domestics  rose  as  he  passed 
down  stairs.  "Sit  down,  my  masters,"  he  exclaimed, 
''your  rise  has  been  my  fall."  How  bitterly  must  his 
wrung  soul,  at  that  moment  have  felt  the  degradation. 

Next  adown  the  stream,  stood  Durham  House,  the  lux- 
urious abode  of  Dudley  of  Northumberland,  a  spot  most 
closely  linked  with  the  touching  story  of  Lady  Jane  Grey. 
Here  she  lived — here  she  married,  and  from  it  she  was 
tempted  to  take  barge  to  the  Tower,  there  to  assume  a 
crown,  she  was  destined  so  short  a  time  to  wear.  From 
Durham  House,  accompanied  by  her  young  and  handsome 
husband,  surrounded  by  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of 
new  born  royalty,  "  did  she  take  water  in  a  gilded  barge," 
decked  with  banners,  and  moving  to  the  strains  of  merry 
music.  Where  Durham  House  stood,  and  where  an  eight 
month's  drama  of  real  life  was  played,  terminated  by  the  axe 
of  the  executioner,  we  now  see  the  Adelphi,  a  noble  pile 
raised  upon  foundations  of  immense  depth  and  thickness. 


52  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

And  soon  we  are  approaching  Waterloo  Bridge,  the  finest 
in  its  proportions  of  any  bridge  in  Europe.  Where  those 
coal-barges,  and  coal-heavers  ply  their  dingy  trade,  the  an- 
cient palace  of  the  Savoy  once  stood,  rearing  its  dark  towers 
in  all  the  pride  of  feudal  magnificence.  There  the  unfor- 
tunate John  of  France,  taken  prisoner  at  Poictiers  by  the 
Black  Prince,  was  held  in  gentle,  but  safe  durance.  About 
the  same  period,  John  of  Gaunt,  ^'  time  honored  Lancas- 
ter," made  the  Palace  of  the  Savoy  a  residence,  numbering 
the  poet  Chaucer  in  his  retinue. 

Clearing  Westminster  Bridge^  Somerset  House  displays 
its  imposing  facade  to  the  passenger  on  the  river.  Founded 
by  the  Protector  Somerset,  its  princely  magnificence  aided 
the  outcry  against  him ;  and  before  he  had  completed  the 
Palace,  he  died  upon  the  block  at  Tower  Hill.  Elizabeth, 
and  Catharine  the  Queen  of  the  merry  monarch,  succes- 
sively occupied  this  Palace.  It  was  in  the  old  palace  that 
stood  upon  the  very  site  now  covered  by  the  modern  struc- 
ture, the  remains  of  Oliver  Cromwell  laid  in  state — and 
from  it,  he  was  buried  with  great  pomp  and  pageantry. 

Quickly  we  pass  the  opening  of  Strand  Lane — a  dirty 
court  of  no  repute — and  are  soon  opposite  to  the  site  of 
the  Palace,  where  once  lived  the  handsome  and  brave,  but 
headstrong  Essex.  Here  audience  was  sought  of  him  by 
nobles,  princes^  and  ambassadors,  when  the  sunlight  of 
Elizabeth's  favor  was  turned  full  upon  him.  Here  the 
gallant  and  indiscreet  court  favorite  wore  the  love  tokens 
of  his  royal  mistress;  and  from  it  he  madly  issued  with  an 
armed  force  to  attack  the  city.  That  wild  enterprizc 
changed  his  abode  from  Essex  House  to  the  Tower — end- 
ing  in  Essex  with  a  headless  trunk  upon  Tower  Hill ;  for 
his  enamored  Queen^  in  a  broken  heart.     In  Devereuz 


THE  TEMPLE.  63 

Court,  fixed  high  in  the  wall  of  a  Tavern,  may  yet  be 
observed  a  bust  of  the  Earl  in  stone;  the  only  token  be- 
yond the  name  of  court  and  street,  of  Essex  House. 

Next  we  may  note  the  Temple  Gardens  and  Temple 
Church,  with  the  memories  of  the  martial  gatherings  of 
Europe's  early  chivalry,  to  bear  the  banner  of  the  Cross 
to  shelter  beneath  its  folds  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  Its  cir- 
cular Church,  built  in  imitation  of  the  fane,  which  in 
Jerusalem  covered  the  tomb  of  Christ,  was  consecrated 
more  than  six  centuries  ago.  Upon  the  floor  still  rest  the 
sepulchral  effigies  of  the  Knights  Templar,  whose  bones 
are  mouldering  beneath.  Temple  Gardens  is  now  an  oasis 
in  the  desert  of  coal  barges,  and  dingy  looking  wherries; 
a  spot  still  pleasant  and  cheerful,  as  a  promenade.  It  was 
here  Shakspeare  located  the  scene,  when  those  rose- 
emblems  were  plucked  by  the  rival  houses  of  York  and 
Lancaster,  afterwards  developing  in  that  civil  strife,  which 
deluged  English  soil  with  English  btood.  In  later  days 
tlicse  gardens  were  places  of  resort  and  solace  to  Johnson, 
Cowper^  Goldsmith  and  Lamb— the  gentle  Elia  says,  "I 
was  born  and  passed  the  first  seven  years  of  my  life  near, 
and  in  the  Temple  Gardens.  Its  church,  its  halls,  its 
gardens^  and  fountains  are  of  my  oldest  recollections.  I 
repeat  to  this  day  no  verses  to  myself  with  greater  emotion 
than  those  of  Spencer,  where  he  speaks  of  this  spot." 

Passing  the  Temple  with  its  associations,  we  bestow  a 
hurried  glance  upon  some  sooty-looking  buildings,  with 
circular  iron  receivers.  These  form  part  of  the  numerous 
Gas  works^  which  make  London  the  best  lighted  city  in 
the  world.  They  stand  upon  the  very  spot,  once  occupied 
by  the  ancient  sanctuary  of  the  White  Friars,  peopled  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott  so  graphically  in  his  Fortunes  of  Nigel, 
e2 


.54  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

There  his  hero,  like  other  fugitives  from  the  pursuit  of 
bailiffs,  obtained  protection  upon  taking  the  rhyming  oath, 

"  By  spigot  and  barrel, 

By  bilbo,  and  buff, 

Thou  art  sworn  to  the  quarrel 

For  the  blades  of  the  huff. 

For  White  Friars,- and  its  claims. 

To  be  champion,  or  martyr. 

And  to  fight  for  its  dames 

Like  a  knight  of  the  Garter." 

Slash  bucklers  and  bullies,  have  now  given  place  to  coal- 
heavers,  gas-men,  and  glass-blowers. 

Soon  we  are  under  the  shadow  of  Blackfriars'  Bridge. 
Clearing  this,  St.  Paul's  becomes  the  most  prominent 
object.  The  huge  dome  of  the  Metropolitan  Cathedral  is 
crowded  round  about  by  the  spires  and  pinnacles  of  thirty 
other  Churches,  many  of  them  the  products  of  the  same 
genius  that  reared  this  rival  of  St.  Peter's. 

Soon  we  are  approaching  London  Bridge;  and  here  we 
have  in  all  its  perfection,  the  scene  and  stir  of  busy  com- 
merce— crowded  wharfs  with  huge  cranes  still  drawing 
richer  cargoes  into  their  deep  recesses,  and  barges  floating 
by  laden  almost  to  sinking  with  country  produce.  Close  to 
this  is  the  central  spot,  where 

"  Lofty  Trade 
Gives  audience  to  the  world  ;  the  Strand  around 
Close  swarms  with  busy  crowds  of  many  a  realm  f 
What  bales!  what  wealth!  what  industry!  what  fleets r" 

Now  we  shoot  under  the  magnificent  Bridge  of  South- 
wark,  the  first  structure  of  iron,  in  the  shape  of  a  bridge, 
ever  built.  How  light  and  yet  how  strong,  its  noble  arches 
look !  Almost  in  a  line  with  the  present  roadway  to  this 
bridge,  on  the  Surry  side,  stood  the  Globe  Theatre,  the 


ST.  MARY  OVERIES.  65 

scene  of  Shakspeare's  first  acquaintance  with  the  sock  and 
buskin — the  place  where  he  is  said  to  have  carried  a  wick 
to  light  the  actors  on  the  stage — that  stage,  he  was  after- 
wards to  purify,  enlighten  and  illumine,  by  the  brighter 
rays  of  his  genius. 

Leaving  Southwark's  iron  bridge  behind  us,  the  turreted 
steeple  of  St.  Mary  Overies,  or,  the  modern  St.  Saviour's, 
towers  up  beyond.  Our  little  boat  is  soon  alongside  the 
floating  barge  built  pier,  where  a  dense  crowd  of  passengers, 
hustle  each  other,  in  trying  to  get  first  on  board.  Elbow- 
ing our  way  up  the  steep  ascent,  we  are  soon  standing  in 
front  of  the  modernized  Church  of  St.  Saviour's.  In  the 
olden  time,  long  before  the  Conquest,  a  House  of  Sisters 
was  founded  here,  by  a  maiden  of  the  name  of  Mary,  the 
daughter  of  the  old  ferryman;  and  then  called  by  the 
name  of  St.  Mary  Overies,  or  St.  Mary,  over  the  ferry. 
Towards  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century,  the  old  fabric 
was  restored  through  the  munificence  of  the  Poet  Gower, 
Chaucer's  master,  and  but  recently  has  been  again  restored 
and  modernized.  The  plan  of  this  Church  is  a  simple 
one,  being  in  the  cruciform  shape.  An  old  Church  is 
always  a  solemn  place — the  silence,  the  repose,  almost  un- 
earthly, which  broods  there,  dispose  [the  mind  to  serious 
meditation,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  many  memorials  of 
the  dead  scattered  around,  no  one  can  forget  his  mortality. 
In  the  south  transept  may  be  found  the  monument  to  old 
Gower.  The  Poet,  "left  his  soul  to  God,  and  his  body 
to  be  buried  in  the  Church  of  the  Canons  of  the  blessed 
Mary  de  Overies,  in  a  place  expressly  provided  for  it." 
Upon  it  you  may  read  "Here  lyes  John  Gower,  a  benefac- 
tor to  this  sacred  edifice  in  the  time  of  Edward  III.  and 
Richard  II."  An  eflSgy  of  the  Poet  lies  in  a  recess;  on 
the  purple  and  gold  band,  adorned  with  fillets  of  roses 


56  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

encircling  the  head  of  the  eflBgy,  are  the  words  "  Merci 
Ihu,"  or  Mercy  Jesus.  Three  gilded  Tolumes,  labelled 
with  the  names  of  his  principal  works,  support  the  head. 
On  the  wall  at  his  feet,  are  his  arms,  and  a  hat  with  a  red 
hood,  bordered  with  ermine,  arid  surmounted  by  his  crest, 
a  dog's  head.  Near  this  monument,  on  a  pillar  at  the  side, 
may  be  seen  a  cardinal's  hat,  with  certain  arms  beneath. 
To  that  slight  memorial  is  attached  a  long  train  of  recol- 
lections, many  of  them  highly  interesting.  The  arras  are 
of  the  Beaufort  f  imily  :  the  hat  is  that  of  Cardinal  Beau- 
fort, whose  death-bed  Shakspeare  has  painted  with  such 
power.  Immediately  opposite  Gower's  monument,  we  have 
another,  with  a  life-like  bust  of  John  Bingham,  saddler  to 
Queen  Elizabeth,  and  King  James.  The  complexion  and 
features,  the  white  ruff,  dark  jerkin,  and  red  waistcoat  of 
this  saddler  to  royalty,  are  in  most  excellent  preseryation. 
Crossing  to  the  north  transept,  may  be  seen  the  monument 
to  Dr.  Lockyer,  a  famous  empiric  during  the  reign  of 
Charles  II.  His  effigy  represents  a  very  respectable  look- 
ing personage,  attired  in  a  thick  curled  wig,  and  furred 
gown,  pensively  reclining  upon  some  pillows,  and  looking 
as  if  he  half-doubted  the  truth  of  his  own  epitapb : 

His  virtuejs,  and  his  pills  are  so  well  known, 
That  envy  can't  confine  them  under  stone." 

In  the  beautiful  Lady  Chapel,  with  its  slender,  tree- 
like pillars,  sending  off  their  branches  along  the  roof, 
until  they  form  a  perfect  continuity  of  shade,  sleeps  the 
good  Bishop  Andrews^  awaiting  in  sure  and  steadfast  hope, 
a  glorious  awakening.  Upon  the  tomb  of  one  of  the  an- 
cient Aldermen  of  London,  whose  whole  family  are 
grouped  in  effigies  there,  not  forgetting  his  two  wivee. 


TABARD   INN 


may  be  noticed  the  following  beautiful  inscription^  wbicb 
is  a  slightly  varied  extract  from  Quarle's  poem. 

Like  to  the  damask  rose  you  see, 
Or  like  the  blossom  on  the  tree, 
Or  like  the  dainty  flower  of  May, 
Or  like  the  morping  of  the  day, 
Or  like  the  sun,  or  like  the  shade, 
Or  like  the  gourd  which  Jonas  had. 
Even  so  is  man,  whose  thread  is  spun, 
Drawn  out,  and  cut,  and  so  is  done. 

The  rose  withers,  the  blossohi  blasteth, 
The  flower  fades,  the  morning  hasteth  ; 
The  sun  sets,  the  shadow  flies. 
The  gourd  consumes,  and  man,  he  dies. 

Upon  the  floor  of  this  old  Church,  assembled  the  Coun- 
cil, that  sent  Rodgers  to  the  stake.  He  was  the  first  victim; 
but  for  three  long  years,  the  spirit  of  persecution  kept  the 
fires  alive.  Plain  John  Bradford,  here  received  his  sen- 
tence; and  shortly  after  leaving  the  precincts,  wrote  that 
touching  letter  to  Cranmer,  Ridley,  and  Latimer,  when  he 
said — "  This  day  I  think,  or  to-morrow  at  the  uttermost, 
hearty  Hooper,  sincere  Saunders,  and  trusty  Taylor  end 
their  course,  and  receive  their  crown  :  the  next  am  I, 
which  hourly  look  for  the  porter  to  open  me  the  gates 
after  them,  to  enter  the  desired  rest.''  Massinger  is 
buried  here  ;  but  not  as  we  supposed  in  a  gloomy  corner, 
amid  a  mass  of  mis-shapen  and  mutilated  graves;  but 
within  the  sanctified  area  of  the  Church. 

Leaving  St.  Saviour's,  I  instinctively  turned  toward  that 
spot,  to  which  every  lover  of  poetry  is  glad  to  direct  his 
steps — the  old  Tabard  Inn — the  scene  of  the  feasting  of 
Chaucer's  Pilgrims:  those  Pilgrims,  who,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  Shaw,  "  have  traversed  four  hundred  and  fifty 


58  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

years — ^like  the  Israelites  wandering  in  the  wilderness — 
amid  arid  periods  of  neglect  and  ignorance,  sandy  flats  of 
formal  mannerism,  unfertilized  by  any  spring  of  beauty, 
and  yet  their  garments  have  not  decayed,  nor  their  shoes 
waxed  old/'  I  soon  found  it,  standing  nearly  opposite 
the  modern  Town  Hall  of  Southwark.  The  exterior  pre- 
sents simply  a  square  dilapidated  gate  way,  its  posts 
strapped  with  rusty  iron  bands,  and  its  gates  half  covered 
with  sheets  of  the  same  metal.  As  I  entered,  the  land- 
lord greeted  me,  and  I  thought  of  those  lines  of  Chaucer, 

"A  seemly  man,  ye  hoste  is  withal." 
Merry  doings  were  there  in  the  old  inn  yard,  five  hun- 
dred years  ago,  when  Harry  Baily,  ^'  the  hoste"  was 

"the  early  cock 
That  gathered  them  together  in  a  flock." 

The  Inn  is  now  known,  as  "The  Talbot,''  evidently  a 
corruption  from  "Tabard." 

There  is  something  extremely  venerable  in  the  old  wea- 
ther-beaten, and  iron-bound  posts,  which  prop  up  its  com- 
paratively modern  gateway.  They  tell  of  the  grazing  and 
grinding  of  thousands  of  old  wheels,  while  the  stones  are 
worn  away  by  the  trampings  of  many  a  steed.  I  was  soon 
in  "the  Pilgrim's  Room."  With  due  reverence,  I  looked 
upon  its  venerable  walls,  its  square  chimney  pieces,  and 
its  quaint  old  panels,  reaching  to  the  ceiling.  It  is  now 
cut  up  into  smjjl  rooms ;  but  upon  looking  closely  at  the 
chambers  at  either  end,  it  was  vefy  clear  to  be  seen,  that 
they  had  all  once  formed  one  chamber.  The  whole  ap- 
pearance of  the  building  is  curious,  and  quaint  beyond 
description.  "The  Wife  of  Bath,"— "The  Knight  and 
his  Son,"— "The  Gentle  Parish  Priest,"— the  conceited 
"  Fryar,"  with  all  that  Pilgrim  train,  came  thronging  in — 


TABARD  INN.  59 

and  as  I  stood  upon  the  ancient  balcony,  and  looked  down 
into  the  old  court-yard,  the  scene  so  graphically  described 
by  Chaucer,  was  before  me.  Returning,  I  stopped  ia  at 
the  tap  room,  and  drained  to  the  memory  of  old  Geoffrey 

a  mug  of 

"Nappy  strong  ale  of  Southwark." 

What  a  forlorn  looking  district,  is  this  of  Southwark. 
Many  of  the  houses,  besides  being  old,  are  large  and  lofty. 
Many  of  the  courts  stand  just  as  they  did,  when  Cromwell 
sent  out  his  spies,  to  hunt  up  and  slay  the  Cavaliers;  and 
just  as  when  they  again  were  hunted  here  by  the  Cavaliers, 
after  the  Restoration.  There  is  a  smell  of  past  ages  about 
these  ancient  courts,  like  that  which  arises  from  decay,  a 
murky  closeness,  as  if  the  old  winds  which  whistled 
through  them,  in  the  times  of  the  civil  wars,  had  become 
stagnant,  and  all  the  old  things  had  fallen  and  decayed, 
as  they  were  blown  together.  The  timber  of  the  houses 
looks  bleached  and  worm-eaten,  and  the  very  brick-work, 
seems  never  to  have  been  new.  In  these  old  struc- 
tures you  find  wide,  hollow-sounding,  decayed  staircases, 
that  lead  into  great  ruinous  rooms^  whose  echoes  are  only 
awakened  by  the  shrieking  and  scampering  of  large  black- 
eyed  rats,  who  eat  through  the  solid  floors,  through  the 
wainscot,  and  live  and  die  without  being  startled  by  a  hu- 
man voice.  Leaving  this  desolate  district,  I  was  soon 
standing  on  London  Bridge.  What  a  crowd  are  coming 
and  going  over  this  vast  thoroughfare  !  There  hardly  ap- 
pears standing  room ;  and  yet  each  one  of  the  vast  throng, 
seems  to  have  space  enough.  Just  below  the  dark  capped 
turrets  of  the  Tower  loom  forth  with  all  their  ghastly 
memories. 

Once  on  the  other  side,  I  passed  rapidly  by  Fishmonger's 


60  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Hall,  the  site  of  the  old  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  and  turning 
by  Craven  Into  Ludgate  Street,  reached  my  destination, 
the  Temple  Church,  which  stands  a  little  back  from  Fleet 
Street,  near  where  Temple  Bar  spans  the  way  with  its 
gloomy  looking  arch.     Temple  Church  now  belongs  to  the 
Law  Societies  of  the  Inner  and  Middle  "Temple.     The  his- 
tory is  a  curious  one,  by  which  the  Lawyers  succeeded  to 
the  inheritance  of  that  powerful  fraternity,  the  Knights 
Templars,  whose  guiding  principle  enforced  by  the  solem- 
nities  of  an   oath,   was,   "never   to   permit   a   christian 
to  be  unlawfully  and  unjustly  despoiled  of  his  heritage." 
The  Temple  Church,  or  at  least  that  part  called  "The 
Round,"  was  built  originally  by  the  Knights  Templar  of 
Jerusalem,  an  order,  who  pitying  the  sufferings  of  Christian 
pilgrims  to  the  Holy  City,  entered  into  a  solemn  compact 
to  devote  their  lives  and  fortunes,  to  the  defence  of  the 
highway  leading  to  Jerusalem,  from  the  inroads  of  Mus- 
selmen,  and  the  ravages  of  the  powerful  robbers,  who  in- 
fested it.     Their  rise  was  rapid ;  but  not  more  so  than  the 
growth  of  their  ambition.     From  guarding  the  highway, 
they  took  to  guarding  the  Holy  City  itself:  and  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  influential  men  joined  the  order,  and  threw 
into  its  coffers  their  entire  fortunes.    It  gr6w  in  power, 
influence,  and  wealth,  and   in  the  palmiest  days  of  its 
strength,  numbered  some  of  the  most  influential  names  in 
England  as  members.    The  Master  of  the  Temple,  took 
his  place  amongst  the  Peers  in  Parliament.     The  dress  of 
the  Templar,  corresponded  with  that  of  the  Red  Cross 
Knight,  in  "  the  Fairy  Queen"  of  Spencer. 

"  And  on  his  breast  a  bloudie  cross  he  bore 

The  deare  remembrance  of  his  dying  Lord, 

For  whose  sweet  sake  that  glorious  badge  he  wore, 

And  dead  as  living,  ever  him  adored." 


THE  TEMPLS.  61 

About  tlie  reign  of  Edward  HI.  the  estates  belonging 
to  the  Templars,  came  into  the  hands  of  the  Knight  Hos- 
pitallers of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem ;  and  by  them  were 
demised  to  certain  students  of  the  Common  Law.  From 
that  time,  the  body  of  Lawyers  increased  in  influence  and 
importance.  Soon  they  became  so  powerful,  that  it  was 
found  necessary  to  divide  the  Inn  into  two  separate  frater- 
nities, to  be  called  the  Honorable  Society  of  the  Inner, 
and  the  Honorable  Society  of  the  Middle  Temple;  both 
having  separate  Halls,  but  worshipping  in  one  Church. 
These  honorable  societies  appeared  to  have  suffered  con- 
siderably during  the  rebellion  under  Wat  Tyler.  Jack 
Cade  had  no  great  respect  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  Law. 
He  could  not  understand,  *^how  the  skin  of  an  innocent 
lamb,  should  be  made  parchment,  and  that  parchment 
being  scribbled  on,  should  undo  a  man."  Jack  had  heard 
some  people  say,  "that  the  bee  stings;"  but  sensible  fel- 
low, he  had  reason  to  know  ^'  it  was  the  bee's  wax,"  "  for 
he  did  but  put  a  seal  once  to  a  thing,  and  was  never  his 
own  man  after."  Believing,  as  honest  Jack  did,  how 
could  he  help  putting  his  blazing  torch,  amid  the  parch- 
ment treasures  of  the  Inns  of  Court.  But  the  Order  soon 
recovered  from  the  devastating  effects  of  the  fire,  and 
waxed  more  potent  than  ever ;  and  about  the  first  year  of 
James  I.  we  find  the  whole  of  this  property  was  granted 
by  letters  patent,  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
the  Recorder  of  London,  and  others,  the  Benchers  and 
Treasurers  of  the  Inner  and  Middle  Temple,  to  have  and 
to  hold  to  them  and  their  assigns  forever.  Thus  secured 
by  royal  grant,  it  has  remained  in  their  possession  to 
this  day.     The  place  where  now 

"  The  studious  lawyers  have  their  bowers/' 


02  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

for  Temple  Gardens  still  display  their  verdure  on  the 
river  side ;  is  certainly  not  what  the  gentle  Elia  declares 
it  to  be  in  his  time,  "  the  most  elegant  spot  in  the  metro- 
polis." The  approach  to  it,  from  Fleet  Street,  is  now 
forlorn  enough,  and  in  the  smoky  atmosphere  of  Lon- 
don, everything  outside  has  a  dingy,  dismal  appearance. 
Who  can  ever  forget  the  gloom  and  "  the  ancient  smell," 
there  is  about  the  old  Brick  Court.  But  the  memories  of 
the  great  and  good,  cluster  around  its  venerable  precincts. 
Gower,  Chaucer  and  Spencer,  all  lived  here.  Oliver 
Goldsmith,  poor  Noll!  resided  here,  and  in  that  dingy 
room  on  the  first  floor  of  House  No.  2,  they  show  you  the 
very  spot  in  which  he  died. 

The  Inns  of  Court  are  remarkable  for  the  elegance, 
and  beauty  of  their  interiors.  The  old  times,  when  these 
Halls  were  the  scenes  of  good  cheer,  and  sumptuous  en- 
tertainment :  when  majesty,  and  those  who  reflected  its 
splendors,  honored  these  precincts  with  their  right  royal 
presence;  have  indeed  passed  away.  But  though  'Hhe 
ferial  days  and  glorious  merry-makings,"  of  the  lawyers  of 
Evelyn's  time  have  gone,  and  old  Benchers  no  longer 
lead  the  dance  with  measured  step,  following  their  ''Master 
of  the  Bevels :"  nor  young  limbs  of  the  law,  ''  make  the 
welkin  dance  indeed,  and  rouse  the  night  owl  in  a  catch 
that  would  draw  three  souls  from  out  one  weaver;"  still 
the  honorable  profession  keep  alive  the  spirit  and  sociality 
of  their  order  in  these  old  Halls.  In  the  Halls  of  the 
Inner  and  Middle  Temple,  dinner  is  prepared  for  the  mem- 
bers every  day,  during  Term  time.  The  Masters  of  the 
Bench,  dining  on  the  elevated  platform,  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  Halls,  while  the  barristers,  and  studente  line 
the  long  tables,  extending  down  the  sides  of  the  room. 


THE   TEMPLE.  Od 

Students  keep  twenty  terms, — that  is  five  years  at  these 
lans, — before  they  are  entitled  to  be  called  to  the  Bar. 
Graduates  of  either  University,  however,  are  privileged  in 
an  earlier  call.  On  "  Grand  Days,"  the  Halls  are  graced, 
hot  only  by  the  attendance  of  a  large  number  of  members, 
and  occasionally  by  the  presence  of  the  Judges,  who  dine 
in  succession  with  each  of  the  four  Inns,  extending  their 
visits  then  both  to  Gray's  and  Lincoln's.  The  Hall  of 
the  Inner  Temple,  is  I  believe,  the  largest,  as  it  most 
certainly  is  the  most  magnificent  in  its  interior  decora- 
tions. The  fine  windows  are  adorned  with  the  arms 
of  the  distinguished  members  of  the  Inn ;  and  there  amid 
the  blaze  of  heraldric  devices  in  stained  glass,  you  may 
read  the  names,  so  world-wide  in  their  fame,  of  Cowper, 
Thurlow,  Dunning,  Eldon,  Blackstone,  Stowell,  Hard- 
wicke,  and  Somers.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  rich  and 
glowing  effect  of  the  emblazonry  on  these  windows,  the 
elaborateness  of  the  rich  carving  of  the  wood-work  on  the 
walls,  or  the  fine  effect  produced  by  the  portraits — some  of 
them  veritable  Vandykes,  that  look  down  upon  you  from 
the  venerable  walls.  The  strong  oaken  tables  that  extend 
from  end  to  end  of  the  Hall — are  the  same  at  which 
those  noble  spirits  of  the  sixteenth  century  dined ;  and  all 
the  venerated  forms  of  Benchers,  that  Lamb  styles  "the 
mythology  of  the  Temple." 

The  Temple  Church,  "where  barristers  resort,"  has 
been  lately  restored  in  a  style  of  magnificence  and  cor- 
respondency worthy  of  its  best  days,  when  it  was  adorned 
with  more  than  oriental  splendor.  The  only  ancient  part 
of  the  Church  is  now  the  Round,  into  which  you  first  enter 
by  a  deeply  recessed,  and  sumptuously  enriched  Norman 
gateway.     In  thfi  restorations  under  the  auspices  of  the 


64  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

two  Societies,  everything  has  been  restored,  as  near  as 
could  be  ascertained,  to  its  original  beauty.  The  clus- 
tered columns,  supporting  the  roof  of  the  nave,  present  a 
fine  appearance.  These  are  the  original  pillars,  once 
used  in  the  old  Church,  of  polished  marble,  variegated 
and  beautiful.  In  the  ancient  part  of  the  Church  is 
presented  the  most  interesting  example  in  England,  of 
the  transition  of  the  plain  massive  Norman,  to  the  light 
and  elegant  early  English  style.  In  the  Round,  one  may 
notice  the  semicircular  windows  of  the  Norman  period; 
but  Norman  in  the  last  stage  of  a  change  to  something 
else,  already  grown  slender  and  elongated.  There  too  we 
have  the  pointed  windows — the  very  perfection  of  what  is 
called  the  lancet  style.  The  stained  window  over  the  altar, 
appears  like  one  of  the  richest  works  of  the  olden  time, 
although  it  is  very  modern,  while  the  richly  gilded  roof  is 
scarce  less  splendid  than  it  was,  when  the  clang  of  knightly 
heel  rang  upon  the  stone  pavement  below.  The  stained 
window  first  mentioned,  with  its  deep  rubies,  rich  purple, 
and  gold,  represents  Christ  enthroned.  The  pavement  of 
the  Church  remodeled  in  strict  correspondency,  with  the 
the  ancient  one,  is  yellow  and  amber  upon  a  deep  ground 
of  red.  There  is  a  great  grouping  of  heraldric  and 
pictorial  subjects,  such  as  animals  with  their  tails  linked 
together;  cocks  and  foxes,  and  figures  playing  upon 
musical  instruments.  But  the  chief  ornaments  are  the 
symbols  of  the  two  societies  of  the  Temple;  the  Lamb, 
and  the  Pegasus,  or  winged  horse,  founded  on  the  celerity 
of  Heraclius.  The  Lamb  being  the  device  of  St.  John, 
belonged  to  the  Hospitallers  of  St.  John,  who  succeeded 
the  Templars.  One  of  the  members  of  the  Inns,  in  glori- 
fying this  symbolic  emblem,  now  adopted  by  the  Order, 
wrote  the  following  eulogistic  verses : 


THE   TEMPLE. 


.65 


"  As  by  the  Templars  hold  you  go, 

The  Horse  and  Lamb  displayed, 
In  emblematic  figures  show, 

The  merits  of  their  trade. 
That  clients  may  infer  from  thence, 

How  just  is  their  profession, 
The  Lamb  sets  forth  their  innocence, 

The  Horse  their  expedition. 
O  happy  Britons  J  happy  isle! 

Let  foreign  nations  say; 
When  you  get  justice  without  guile, 

And  law  without  delay." 
To  this,  some  wag  made  the  following  reply : 
"  Deluded  men  !  these  holds  forego 

Nor  trust  such  cunning  elves, 
These  artful  emblems  tend  to  show 

Their  clients,  not  tliemselves ! 

'Tis  all  a  trick ;  these  all  are  shams 

By  which  they  mean  to  cheat  you ; 
So  have  a  care ;  for  you're  the  Lambs, 

And  they  the  Wolves  that  eat  you. 
Nor  let  the  thoughts  of  no  delay, 

To  these,  their  courts  misguide  you  ; 
For  you're  the  shoioy  horse,  and  they, 

The  jockies  that  will  ride  you." 

Among  the  greatest  objects  of  interest  in  this  Church, 
are  the  recumbent  figures  of  the  cross-legged  Crusaders  on 
the  floor.  They  are  nine  in  number,  and  lie  four  on  each  side 
of  the  central  walk,  in  a  double  line.  These  are  an- 
cient monuments  of  Knights  Templars.  Selden  and  Plow- 
den  are  buried  in  the  vaults  of  this  Church,  and  the  gentle 
author  of  the  "  Ecclesiastical  Polity/'  has  very  appropri- 
ately a  monument,  commemorative  of  his  many  virtues, 
and  rare  abilities.  Beneath  a  worn  and  moss-covered  slab 
of  gray  stone,  just  outside  the  walls  of  the  Church,  are 
supposed  to  rest  the  remains  of  Littleton.  And  with  thia 
old  Church,  ended  a  day's  wandering  in  London. 
r2 


CHAPTER  ly. 

A    FEW    OF    THE 

CEILEBI^ITIES    OF    XiOlSriDOlSr- 

The  Parks  — The  Mansion  House  — The  Exchange  — The  Bank  of 
England. 

How  appropriately  did  Wyndham  style  the  Parks,  'Uhe 
lungs  of  London."  Great  breathing  places,  indeed  they 
are,  with  their  shaded  walks,  running  streams,  and  Ter- 
dant  sod  all  open  to  the  sky.  Here  leaves  are  waving, 
waters  rippling,  and  flowers  blowing,  as  if  the  huge  city, 
with  its  million  of  murmuring  voices,  had  been  removed 
miles  away.  These  Parks  are  where  that  great  Leviathan, 
the  London  populace,  comes  up  to  breathe,  darting  back 
again  into  the  deep  waters  of  the  crowded  stream;  then 
rising  here  each  day  to  catch  a  breath  of  the  pure  and 
vital  air  of  heaven. 

Nothing  is  more  surprising  to  an  American,  accustomed 
to  the  narrow  and  contracted  squares  of  his  own  cities, 
than  these  great  spaces  open  to  the  sky  in  such  a  metro- 
polis as  London,  Some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  extent 
of  these  Parks,  when  it  is  known  that  they  embrace  a 
space  of  more  than  fourteen  hundred  acres,  taken  out  as  it 
were  of  the  very  heart  of  the  city.  To  the  early  taste  of 
English  Sovereigns  for  the  chase,  London  is  unquestiona- 
bly indebted  for  her  Parks :  so  that  what  in  one  age 
savored  of  oppression  and  encroachment  upon  the  liberty 
of  the  subject,  has  in  another,  been  the  means  of  produc- 
ing the  greatest  amount  of  public  good ;  and  added  mate- 


THE   PARKS.  67 

rially  to  the  sum  total  of  public  happiness.  Thus  true  it 
is,  there  is  a  soul  of  goodness  in  things  ill,  when  time,  and 
advanced  civilization  furnish  the  alembic,  to  distil  it  out. 

St.  James's^  Green,  and  Hyde  Park,  with  Kensington 
Garden's,  stretch  in  an  unbroken  line,  from  White  Hall 
to  Kensington  Palace ;  so  that  one  may  really  walk  from 
Downing  Street  to  Bayswater,  a  distance  of  three  miles, 
without  taking  his  feet  off  the  sod.  These  three  Parks 
enclose  London  on  its  west  side  :  Regent's  and  Bat- 
tcrsea  Parks  lying  to  the  north  and  southwest.  Besides 
these  immense  open  spaces,  which  are  beautifully  laid  out; 
the  ventilation  of  this  great  city  is  cared  for  in  numerous 
spares,  some  of  them  of  large  extent,  planted  with  trees, 
and  embracing  in  the  whole,  several  hundred  acres. 

St.  James's  Park  is  shaped  not  unlike  a  boy's  kite,  en- 
closing some  eighty-three  acres.  And  who  that  has  ever 
pored  over  the  quaint  and  gossipping  diary  of  Evelyn,  or 
read  the  stately  lines  of  th-e  courtly  Waller,  but  feels  at 
home  within  its  charming  precincts  ?  Evelyn  in  his  Sylva, 
talks  about  "the  branchy  walks  of  elms  in  St.  James's, 
intermingling  their  reverend  tresses."  The  branchy  walks 
are  still  here ;  and  the  long  avenue  of  elms,  (whether 
of  Evelyn's  time  we  know  not,)  with  interlacing 
branches,  yet  cover  the  sod  with  their  dark  shade.  It  was 
in  this  park  occurred  that  touching  incident  related  of 
Charles  I.  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold  at  Whitehall ;  when 
the  poor  King  pointed  with  tears  in  his  eyes  to  the  oak, 
which  had  been  planted  by  the  hands  of  his  brother 
Henry,  and  said,  "  his  fate  was  happier  than  mine,  for  he 
died  young.''  And  here  too,  along  this  very  walk,  in  gloomy 
mood  with  Whitlock,  strode  that  bold  bad  man,  Cromwell, 
asking  with   significant   look,    "what  if  a   man  should 


68  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

take  upon  himself  to  be  king?''  and  receiving  that  chilling 
response — "  the  remedy  would  be  worse  than  the  disease/' 
The  glimpses  of  grand  architectural  objects  from  this 
Park  are  indeed  striking,  and  include  the  Towers  of  West- 
minster, those  of  the  new  Houses  of  Parliament — the  long 
and  rather  monotonous  facade  of  Buckingham  Palace, 
with  York  Column  soaring  high  in  air,  and  the  Horse 
Guards  terminating  the  rather  picturesque  vista  of  the 
Lake.  Upon  the  Island,  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  Lake, 
is  the  Swiss  Cottage  of  th«  Ornithological  Society,  con- 
taming  a  Council  Room,  keeper's  apartments,  and  steam 
hatching  apparatus,  while  contiguous  are  feeding  places. 
On  this  Island,  aquatic  fowls  brought  from  all  countries, 
make  their  own  nests  among  the  shrubbery;  and  in  the 
morning  the  whole  surface  of  the  Lake  is  alive  with. them, 
in  all  their  varied  plumage.  The  fashionable  days  of  the 
Park,  have  long  since  gone.  It  was  once  the  favorite 
lounge  of  royalty,  and  all  the  fashion  of  the  metropolis, 
gathered  here  in  the  afternoon.  One  familiar  with  the 
comedies  of  Otway,  Congreve,  and  Farquhar,  will  recog- 
nize St.  James's  as  thp  favorite  locale  of  the  numerous 
assignations  mentioned  in  those  plays.  Down  to  the  days 
of  Goldsmith,  this  Park  appears  to  have  been  a  fashionable 
resort.  In  his  "  Essays,"  he  says — "  If  a  man  be  splenetic, 
he  may  every  day  meet  companions  on  the  seats  in  St. 
James,  with  whose  groans  he  may  mix  his  own,  and 
pathetically  talk  of  the  weather.''  Hyde  Park  has  now 
become  the  fashionable  afternoon  lounge  of  the  metropolis; 
and  St.  James's  is  left  to  nursery-maids,  and  their  inte- 
resting charges.  A  pleasant  sight  it  is,  which  may  be 
witnessed  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  in  clear  weather,  to  see 
the  numerous  rosy-cheeked  children^  and  little  misses  in 


THE   PARKS.  0» 

all  the  gracefulness  of  early  girlhood,  engaged  in  feeding 
the  numerous  wild  fowl  that  crowd  the  shores  of  the  beau- 
tiful Lake  in  the  Park. 

You  enter  Green  Park,  after  passing  the  open  area  in 
front  of  Buckingham  Palace,  the  favorite  residence  of  the 
Sovereign ;  a  building  by  no  means  remarkable  for  the 
elegance  of  its  architecture ;  although  the  magnificence  of 
its  interior  is  said  to  atone  for  the  defect  in  its  external 
appearance.  The  poet  Rogers,  occupied  a  house  fronting 
on  this  Park,  near  St.  James's  Place ;  and  here  he  gave 
those  delightful  entertainments  so  much  sought  after,  and 
appreciated  by  the  admirers  of  the  poet.  Here  he  collected 
those  glorious  productions  of  the  ancient  and  modern 
chisel;  and  that  fine  gallery  of  works  of  the  first  masters, 
not  surpassed  by  any  private  collecti^  in  England.  Byron 
said  of  this  home  of  the  poet — ^^  If  you  enter  Rogers' 
House,  you  find  it  not  the  dwelling  of  a  common  mind. 
There  is  not  a  gem,  a  coin,  a  book  thrown  aside  on  his 
chimney  piece,  his  sofa,  his  table,  that  does  not  bespeak 
an  almost  fastidious  elegance  in  the  possessor."  By  the 
high  ground  of  Constitution  Hill,  crossing  this  Park, 
you  pass  to  Hyde  Park  Corner.  It  was  on  this  hill,  the 
three  attempts  on  the  life  of" the  Queen,  were  made  at 
several  times,  by  Oxford,  Francis,  and  Hamilton;  and  it 
was  at  the  upper  end  of  the  road.  Sir  Robert  Peel  on 
his  way  for  his  usual  ride  in  Hyde  Park,  was  thrown 
or  fell  from  his  horse,  of  which  fall  he  died  And  here 
your  attention  is  attracted  by  a  rather  gloomy  looking 
structure,  faced  with  Bath  stone,  standing  near  the  arched 
entrance.  This  is  the  celebrated  Apsley  House,  so  long 
the  residence  of  the  greatest  captain  of  his  age,  the  Duke 
of  Wellington.     It  was  sold  to  him  by  the  Crown ;  and 


70  FOREIGN  ETCHXf^GS. 

those  iroD  blinds,  said  to  be  bullet  proof,  which  give  such 
a  singular  aspect  to  the  house,  were  placed  there  in  a 
defiant  spirit  by  the  "Iron  Duke,''  during  the  ferment  oc- 
casioned by  the  Reform  Bill,  when  his  windows  were 
broken  by  the  mob.  Time,  which  must  make  it  venerable, 
will  confer  more  and  more  lustre  upon  it ;  and  a  century 
hence,  what  is  now  looked  upon  with  curiosity,  will  be 
regarded  with  reverence.  The  remains  of  the  Duke  rest 
in  the  crypt,  beneath  the  pavement  of  St.  Paul's,  in 
close  proximity  to  the  greatest  of  England's  naval  heroes, 
Nelson  and  Collingwood;  and  the  sculptor's  skill  is  at 
work  upon  a  monument,  whose  grand  proportions  and 
allegorical  allusions  shall  tell  to  after  ages,  the  grateful 
admiration  of  the  country^  he  served  so  well. 

Hyde  Park,  through  which  entrance  is  had  at  Hyde 
Park  Corner,  by  the  triple  arched  and  colonnaded  Gate- 
way, extends  from  this  point  westward  to  Kensington 
Gardens,  embracing  nearly  four  hundred  acres.  The  Ser- 
pentine River,  which  is  one  of  its  greatest  ornaments, 
covers  nearly  fifty  acres.  It  has  upon  its  margin  nume- 
rous lofty  elms.  The  whole  Park  is  intersected  with  well 
kept  foot-paths,  and  the  carriage-walks  are  wide,  and  in 
most  admirable  order.  During  the  London  season,  in  the 
afternoons,  between  half-past  five  and  six,  may  be  seen  all 
the  fashion  and  splendid  equipages  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry  of  Great  Britain.  Rotten  Row,  the  equestrian 
drive,  is  crowded  with  male  and  female  equestrians,  mount- 
ed upon  spirited  steeds,  whose  pedigrees  go  back  perhaps 
farther  than  their  owners'.  Here  are  fair  equestrians,  in 
whose  cheeks  mantle  "all  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards" — 
with  figures  to  which  out-door  exercise  has  given  ample 
development,  and  with  roses  in  their  cheeks,  telling  of  that 


THE  PARKS.  71 

full  and  robust  health,  which  is  the  result  of  their  superior 
physical  training.  What  splendid  forms  these  young  Eng- 
lish women  have;  what  expressive  features !  Free,  bold, 
and  natural.  And  then  too,  what  a  gay  scene  does  that 
carriage  drive  present,  on  a  bright  afternoon  in  the  season- 
— flashing  with  the  most  brilliant  equipages,  and  all  the 
gilded  folly  that  wealth  and  fashion  can  create.  There 
rolls  the  coronetted  carriage  of  a  dowager  countess,  and 
here,  whirls  rapidly  along  the  light  cabriolet  of  some  sprig 
of  nobility,  who  with  his  spruce  tiger  behind  in  livery, 
has  seized  the  reins  of  his  mettlesome  steed,  and  is  driving 
with  a  skill  that  Sanderson  might  envy.  A  rush  of  pedes- 
trians to  the  edge  of  the  carriage  drive,  and  the  general 
turning  of  the  faces  of  the  crowd  towards  the  gate  at  Hyde 
Park  Corner,  indicate  the  approach  of  some  distinguished 
personages;  and  presently  preceded  by  two  or  three  dash- 
ing ofl&cers  of  the  Horse  Guards  in  their  splendid  uniform, 
and  accompanied  by  outriders,  the  open  landau  of  the 
Sovereign,  whirls  into  the  Park.  The  crowd  of  vehicles 
along  the  Drive  open  at  its  approach,  and  then  close  in 
upon  its  wake.  Hats  go  off — dandies  in  stunning  ties  put 
up  their  eye-glasses — nursery  maids  and  children  gaze  with 
admiration  undisguised  :  but  all  along  the  line  no  cheer  Is 
heard,  though  everywhere  the  Sovereign  and  her  consort 
are  received  with  that  deep  feeling  of  respect,  far  better 
than  noisy  clamor,  because  more  sincere.  The  appearance 
of  the  Queen  is  by  no  means  prepossessing,  and  one  can 
discover  no  traces  of  the  beauty  that  her  numerous  'por- 
traits induce  you  to  expect.  Her  face  is  full,  bearing  traces 
of  its  Hanoverian  origin,  in  .the  contour,  while  the  expres- 
sion is  any  thing  but  agreeable.  Of  late  years  she  has 
grown  so  stout,  that  with  one  of  her  inches,  it  has  entirely 


72  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

destroyed  the  little  symmetry  of  figure  she  may  have  once 
possessed.  Besides  she  dresses  badly,  and  in  this  respect 
is  in  striking  contrast  with  her  fair  cousin  over  the  chan- 
nel^ whose  exquisite  taste  is  the  admiration  of  Paris. 
This  contrast  was  mortifying  to  English  pride,  in  the  recent 
visit  to  London  of  the  fair  Empress  of  the  French,  whose 
personal  charms  and  graceful  exterior  struck  the  liege  sub- 
jects of  her  majesty  rather  forcibly.  The  appearance  of 
Prince  Albert  is  that  of  a  refined  quiet  gentleman,  which 
he  most  unquestionably  is.  He  looks  much  older  than  I 
supposed,  and  there  is  an  expression  about  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  indicating  a  soul  ill  at  ease,  although  public 
report  gives  him  the  credit  of  possessing  a  most  amiable 
temper.  The  Prince  of  Wales  has  a  sickly  look,  with  a 
countenance  vacant  in  the  extreme ;  and  Rumor,  unless 
ker  tale  be  false  does  say,  that  the  penalty  is  his,  which 
often  falls  upon  the  offspring  of  blood  relations. 

Close  to  the  entrance  on  the  Drive  in  the  Park,  stands 
the  colossal  monument  erected  by  the  women  of  England 
to  Arthur,  Duke  of  Wellington.  This  cast  from  cannon 
taken  in  the  victories  of  Salamanca,  Vittoria,  Toulouse, 
and  Waterloo,  is  at  a  cost  of  ten  thousand  pounds  sterling; 
why  it  is  called  the  statue  of  Achilles,  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
divine.  It  is  evidently  copied  from  one  of  the  famous 
antiques  on  the  Monte  Cavallo  at  Rome ;  and  what  a  repre- 
sentation of  Castor's  twin  brother  has  to  do  with  the  me- 
mory of  the  Iron  Duke,  or  his  exploits,  would  puzzle  the 
brains  of  an  antiquary.  The  Serpentine  River  runs  through 
the  Park,  between  Rotten  Row  and  the  Carriage  Drive,  pass- 
ing under  the  handsome  bridge,  which  crosses  it  at  the 
boundary  line  of  Kensington  Gardens,  where  Hyde  Park 
ends,  and  Kensington  begins.     It  is  certainly  a  very  pic- 


THE  PARKS.  73 

turesque  stream,  and  adds  greatly  to  the  beauty  of  thip  most 
charming  of  Parks.  Pleasure  boats  have  been  introduced 
upon  it,  while  the  neat  and  ornamental  little  boat-houses 
along  its  borders  have  a  very  pretty  effect.  The  number 
of  lives  lost  in  this  stream  induced  the  Royal  Humane  Soci- 
ety as  early  as  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  to  erect 
a  Receiving  house.  It  was  rebuilt  some  twenty  years  ago, 
in  quite  an  elegant  style,  and  has  an  Ionic  entrance,  over 
which  is  sculptured  the  obverse  of  the  Society^s  medal,  a 
boy  striving  to  rekindle  an  almost  extinct  torch,  with  the 
beautiful  and  appropriate  legend  beneath  in  Latin,  which 
translated  would  be:  "Perchance  a  spark  may  be  con- 
cealed." In  the  rear  are  kept  boats,  ladders^  ropes^  and 
poles,  wicker  boats,  life-preserving  apparatus,  &c.  The 
celebrated  Crystal  Palace  stood  on  the  south  side  of  this 
Park,  opposite  Prince's  Gate,  and  the  large  elm  trees 
covered  in  by  the  transepts,  are  still  alive^  thdtigh  far 
from  flourishing. 

But  Hyde  Park  has  its  historic  associations ;  and  brings 
to  mind  the  early  and  healthful  recreations,  when  May-day 
was  a  great  national  festival,  so  often  alluded  to  by  the 
earlier  dramatists — and  those  grand  Reviews  mentioned 
by  the  gossiping  Pepys,  who  was  the  Horace  Walpole  of 
his  day.  The  stern  Protector  Cromwell,  used  to  drive  in 
this  Park ;  and  on  one  occasion,  taking  his  usual  airing 
with  a  pair  of  ponies,  presented  to  him  by  some  of  the 
potentates  of  the  Continent,  was  thrown  off  the  box,  and 
his  feet  became  entangled  in  the  harness.  Out  of  this 
accident  that  old  rhyming  cavalier  Cleveland  wrote  the 
following  spirited  lines: 

"The  whip  again!  away!  'tis  too  absurd 
That  thou  should^st  lash  with  whip-cord  now, 

a 


74  POREIQN  ETCHINGS. 

I'm  pleased  to  fancy  how  the  glad  compact 

Of  hackney  coachmen  sneer  at  the  last  act. 

Hark  how  the  scoffing  concourse  hence  derives, 

The  proverb  '  needs  must  go  when  the  devil  drives,' 

YondCT  a  whipster  cries,  'Tis  a  plain  case, 

He  turiied  us  out  to  put  himself  in  place; 

But  God-a-mercy !  horses,  then,  once  ye 

Stood  to  it,  and  turned  him  out  as  well  as  we. 

Another  not  behind  him,  with  his  mocks. 

Cries  out,  sir,  faith  you're  in  the  wrong  box; 

He  did  presume  to  rule,  because  forsooth. 

He's  been  a  horse-commander  from  his  youth; 

But  he  must  know  there's  difference  in  the  reins. 

Of  horses  fed  with  oats,  and  fed  with  grains, 

I  wonder  at  his  frolic,  for  be  sure 

Four  hampered  coach  horses  can  fling  a  Brewer; 

But  *  Pride  will  have  a  fall,'  such  the  world's  course  is, 

He  who  can  rule  three  realms,  can't  guide  four  horses; 

See  him  that  trampled  thousands  in  their  gore, 

Dismounted  by  a  party  but  of  four. 

But  we  have  done  with't,  and  we  may  call 

This  driving  Jehu,  PhcEton  in  his  fall; 

I  would  to  God,  for  these  three  kingdoms'  sake, 

His  neck,  and  not  the  whip,  had  given  tb«  crack." 

In  this  Park  too,  wounded  honor,  up  to  a  late  day,  was 
wont  to  resort  for  the  healing  of  those  maladies  of  the 
soul,  which  it  thought  only  lead  or  steel  could  cure.  The 
names  of  two  Americans  are  to  be  found  in  the  lists,  who 
resorted  here  in  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century,  to  wipe 
out  insult  according  to  the  rules  of  the  stern  code.  One 
of  them,  a  Mr.  Carpenter,  was  I  believe  killed. 

Between  the  Cumberland  arched  marble  gateway,  and  the 
Albany  street  foot-gate,  just  outside  the  Park,  and  where 
the  Edgeware  road  runs  into  Oxford  street  once  stood  the 
memorable  gallows-tree  of  Tyburn.  Its  cruel  memories 
are  familiar  to  those  who  take  a  pleasure  in  criminal 


THE  PARKS.  75 

annals.  But  it  has  an  interest,  from  the  fact,  that  beneath 
the  ground  on  which  it  stood,  lie  the  bones  of  Cromwell, 
Bradshaw,  Ireton,  and  other  Regicides,  torn  from  their 
graves  at  the  Restoration,  hung  here  in  all  their  hideous 
corruption,  for  a  space,  then  buried  at  the  foot  of  the  gal- 
lows tree.  A  mean  revenge  this,  that  could  thus  wreak 
its  petty  malice  upon  the  remains  of  men;  who,  however 
much  they  may  have  vexed  royalty  while  alive,  could  give 
it  but  little  trouble  or  apprehension  in  the  quiet  of  their 
graves. 

Kensington  Gardens,  bordering  on  Hyde  Park,  include : 
an  area  of  some  three  hundred  and  fifty-six  acres.  The 
most  picturesque  portion  of  these  gardens  is  undoubtedly 
the  entrance  from  near  the  Bridge  over  the  Serpentine, 
where  there  is  a  charming  walk  under  some  old  Spanish 
chesnuts.  But  one  can  hardly  go  amiss,  in  finding  spots 
of  rare  beauty  in  this  fashionable  haunt.  Long  avenues 
under  the  interlacing  branches  of  noble  old  elms — walks 
bordered  by  rare  shrubbery — quaintly  designed  flower- 
gardens — and  a  sward  rivalling  in  its  rich  velvety  softness, 
the  most  ingenious  works  of  "Persia's  looms,"  are  among 
some  of  the  attractions  of  these  delightful  gardens. 

Regent's  Park,  encloses  some  four  hundred  acres.  The 
hunting  grounds  of  Marylebone  Park,  in  the  days  of  Queen 
Bess,  were  taken  to  form  this  noble  area,  which  is  nearly 
circular  in  its  plan.  It  derives  its  name  from  the  Prince 
Regent,  afterwards  George  IV.  In  the  southwest  portion 
of  this  Park,  is  a  sheet  of  water,  with  picturesque  islets. 
On  the  eastern  slope  are  the  far-famed  gardens  of  the 
Zoological  Society.  The  great  object  of  the  institution  of 
this  Society,  as  appears  by  their  prospectus,  was  "  the 
introduction  of  new  varieties,  breeds,  aijd  races  of  animals }" 


76  roREiaw  etchings. 

and  they  have  most  thoroughly  carried  out  their  plan,  in 
the  magnificent  variety  of  animal  life,  here  presented  to 
the  delighted  visitor  in  these  spacious  grounds.  Emeua 
from  New  Holland,  Arctic  and  Russian  bears,  Cuban 
mastiflfs,  Thibet  watch -dogs,  Zebras,  and  Indian  cows, 
Alligators,  and  Ant  Eaters;  and  almost  "every  thing 
that  hath  life,'*  in  the  wide  animal  kiogdom,  may  be  seen 
here,  in  spacious  iron  cages ;  or  where  domesticated  suffi- 
ciently, sunning  themselves  on  the  open  lawns.  One 
of  the  most  interesting  parts  of  the  collection,  is  the 
aquatic  vivarium,  built  of  iron  and  glass,  and  consisting 
of  a  series  of  glass  tanks,  in  which  fish  spawn,  zoophytes 
produce  young,  algae  luxuriate,  Crustacea  and  mollusca 
live  successfully;  polypi  are  illustrated,  together  with  sea 
anemones,  jelly-fish,  star,  and  shell-fish.  A  new  world 
of  animal  life  is  here  seen,  as  in  the  depths  of  ocean, 
with  masses  of  rock,  sand,  gravel,  coral,  sea-weed,  and 
sea  water.  The  Reptile  House,  abounds  in  snakes  of 
every  form  and  color,  from  the  poisonous  Cobra,  down 
to  the  harmless  garter  snake.  Here  too  a  large  Boa 
Constrictor,  a  few  years  since,  swallowed  a  blanket,  and 
in  a  month  after  disgorged  it.  That  these  Gardens  are 
a  favored  resort,  may  be  judged  from  the  fact,  that  in  the 
last  year,  the  number  of  visitors  exceeded  half  a  million. 

But  we  cannot  linger  longer  within  the  delightful  limifs 
of  this  popular  place  of  resort.  A  short  walk  along  the 
new  road  leading  past  these  Gardens,  brings  you  by  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road  to  Oxford  street,  and  so  into  the  noisy 
and  thronged  thoroughfare  of  Holborn.  Soon  you  are 
approaching  Holborn  Hill,  up  which  went  that  noble 
soul,  William  Lord  Russel,  on  his  way  to  the  scaffold  in 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.    That  large  open  area,  is  the  cele- 


SMITHFIELD.  77 

brated  Smithfield  Market.  Oa  market  days  it  is  crowded 
with  some  of  the  best  specimens  of  man  and  beast  that 
English  soil  produces.  But  the  New  Market  Act,  will 
soon  do  away  with  the  beastly  glories  of  Smithfield,  by 
which  no  markets  hereafter,  are  to  be  nearer  to  Lon- 
don than  seven  miles,  measured  in  a  straight  line  from 
Saint  Paul's.  But  Smithfield  has  its  historic  memories — 
here  perished  the  patriot  Wallace;  and  here  its  noblest 
martyr,  John  Kodgers,  the  first  of  the  Marian  persecution ; 
and  Legatt,  the  last  who  suflPered  at  the  stake  in  England, 
were  burned  to  ashes.  A  few  years  since,  opposite  the 
gateway  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Church,  some  blackened 
stones,  ashes,  and  charred  human  bones  were  discovered, 
indicating  where  the  stake  was  driven.  A  short  distance 
farther  on,  in  Newgate  Street,  that  gbomy  looking  struc- 
ture, with  its  area  in  front  enclosed  by  handsome  metal 
gates,  is  the  celebrated  Christ's  Hospital.  This  is  the  home 
of  the  Blue  Coated  Boys',  who  with  their  clerical  neck- 
bands, you  meet  so  often  in  London^  Leigh  Hunt,  Cole- 
ridge and  Lamb,  gambolled  once  in  that  area.  They  are 
among  the  most  eminent  of  those,  this  great  educational 
charity  has  sent  fbrth  to  the  world  in  modern  times.  And 
now  we  are  in  Cheapside — the  Corinthian  Portico,  in  the 
Tympanum  of  which,  you  may  observe  a  group  of  allego- 
rical sculpture,  belongs  to  the  Mansion  House  of  that 
short  lived  civic  divinity,  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London.  It 
is  of  Portland  stone,  and  resembles  somewhat  the  Italian 
palaces,  in  its  appearance,  and  would  be  handsome,  if  it 
was  not  so  begrimed  and  blackened  by  the  smoke  of  Lon- 
don. In  the  kingly  state  of  its  Lord  Mayors,  London  has 
a  security  of  eflficiency  and  greatness,  to  which  England 
q2 


78  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

herself  can  lay  no  claim.  Tlie  civic  monarch  can  never  be 
a  mewling  infant,  or  a  doating  old  man,  at  the  mercy  of 
designing  courtiers.  He  comes  into  office,  in  the  beam 
and  breadth  of  his  manhood,  when  no  swaddling  bands 
could  girdle  even  a  limb  of  him — and  he  retires  before 
age  has  made  him  feeble  or  tyrannical.  Nebuchadnezzar 
himself,  who  first  conquered  all  people,  kindreds,  and 
tongues,  and  then  set  up  the  golden  image  in  the  plains  of 
Dura,  commanding  them  to  worship  it,  could  not  be  more 
every  inch  a  King,  than  my  Lord  Mayor  of  London. 
Some  wag  has  said,  that  ''he  is  annually  driven  from  his 
kingdom;"  not  indeed,  like  Nebuchadnezzar,  "to  eat 
grass  like  oxen,"  "  but  to  eat  oxen  like  grass." 

A  little  beyond  the  Mansion  House,  an  immense 
structure  of  florid  architecture,  with  a  portico  evidently 
copied  from  the  graceful  one,  of  the  Pantheon  at  Rome,  is 

"  That  great  hive  where  markets  rise  and  fall," 

fhe  Exchange.  Here  are  the  celebrated  coffee  rooms 
of  Lloyd^s ;  the  rendezvous  of  the  most  eminent  mer- 
chants, ship  owners,  underwriters,  stock  and  exchange 
brokers.  The  Subscribers'  Room  at  Lloyd's,  is  opened  at 
ten,  and  closed  at  five.  At  the  entrance  of  the  room,  arfe 
exhibited  the  shipping  lists,  received  from  Lloyd's  agents 
at  home  and  abroad,  and  affording  particulars  of  the 
departure  or  arrival  of  vessels,  wrecks,  salvage,  or  sales  of 
property  saved.  To  the  right  and  left  are  Lloyd's  Books, 
two  enormous  ledgers — right  hand,  ships  spoken  with,  or 
arrived  at  their  destined  posts;  left  band,  records  of 
wrecks,  fires,  or  severe  collisions;  written  in  a  fine  Roman 
hand,  in  double  lines.  On  the  roof  of  the  Exchange  is  a 
sort  of  mast ;  at  the  top  a  fan,  like  that  of  a  windmill : 


THE    EXCHANGE.  79 

the  object  of  which  is  to  keep  a  plate  of  metal  with  its 
face  presented  to  the  wind.  Attached  to  this  plate  are 
springs,  which  joined  to  a  rod,  descend  into  the  Under- 
writers' Room,  upon  a  large  sheet  of  paper  placed  against 
the  wall.  To  this  end  of  the  rod,  a  lead  pencil  is  attached, 
which  slowly  traverses  the  paper  horizontally,  by  means  of 
clock  work.  When  the  wind  blows  very  hard  against  the 
plate  outside,  the  spring  being  pressed,  pushes  down  the 
rod,  and  the  pencil  makes  a  long  line  vertically  down  the 
paper,  which  denotes  a  high  wind.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
sheet  another  pencil  moves,  guided  by  a  vane  on  the  out- 
side, which  so  directs  its  course  horizontally,  that  the 
direction  of  the  wind  is  shown.  The  sheet  of  paper  is 
divided  into  squares,  numbered  with  the  hours  of  night 
and  day ;  and  the  clock  work  so  moves  the  pencils,  that 
they  take  exactly  an  hour  to  traverse  each  square ;  hence 
the  strength  and  direction  of  the  wind,  at  any  hour  of  the 
twenty-four  are  easily  seen. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  the  Exchange,  are  some  of  the 
finest  architectural  objects  in  London.  Northward  is  the 
Bank  of  England,  an  elaborately  enriched  pile,  very  pic- 
turesque in  its  parts ;  and  beyond  it  the  palatial  edifices  of 
the  Alliance  and  Sun  Insurance  Offices.  Westward  is  the 
Mansion  House,  before  alluded  to.  The  square  in  front 
of  the  Exchange  is  adorned  with  an  equestrian  statue  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington ;  the  last  work  of  the  celebrated 
Chantrey.  Amid  a  mass  of  buildings  and  courts,  occupy- 
ing three  acres,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Royal  Exchange, 
stands  the  greatest  monetary  establishment  of  the  world, 
the  Bank  of  England.  Its  exterior  measurements  are 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  feet  on  Threadneedle  Street, 
four  hundred  and  ten  feet  on  Lothbury,  two  hundred  and 


80  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

forty-five  on  Bartholomew  lane,  and  four  hundred  and 
forty  feet  on  Prince's  Street.  Within  this  area  are  nine 
open  courts,  a  spacious  rotunda,  numerous  public  offices, 
court,  and  committee  rooms,  an  armory,  engraving  and 
printing  offices,  a  library,  apartments  for  officers,  &c.  The 
Bank  is  the  Treasury  of  fhe  Government,  for  here  are 
received  the  taxes ;  the  interest  of  the  national  debt  paid ; 
the  Exchequer  business  transacted,  &c.,  for  all  which  the 
Bank  is  paid  a  per  centage,  or  commission  annually,  of 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  pounds,  with  the 
profits  derived  from  a  floating  balance  due  the  public,  never 
less  than  four  millions  sterling,  which  employed  in  dis- 
counting mercantile  bills^  yields  one  hundred  and  sixty 
thousand  pounds  yearly.  The  amount  of  bullion  in  the 
possession  of  the  Bank,  constitutes,  along  with  their  secu- 
rities, the  assets  which  they  place  against  their  liabilities, 
on  account  of  circulation  and  deposits;  and  the  difference 
(about  three  millions  sterling)  between  the  several  amounts 
is  called  the  "  Rest,"  or  guarantee  fund  to  provide  for  the 
contingency  of  possible  losses.  The  value  of  bank  notes 
in  circulation  in  one  quarter  of  a  year,  is  upwards  of 
£18,000,000,  and  the  number  of  persons  receiving  divi- 
dends is  nearly  three  hundred  thousand.  The  Stock  of 
Annuities  upon  which  the  Public  Dividends  are  payable, 
amount  to  £774,000,000,  and  the  yearly  dividends  paya- 
ble thereon,  to  £25,000,000.  The  issue  of  paper  on  secu- 
rities is  not  permitted  to  exceed  fourteen  millions  sterling. 
The  last  dividend  to  the  proprietors  was  4  per  cent.,  and 
and  the  bullion  in  the  vaults,  at  the  last  report,  was  some 
twenty  millions  sterling.  But  let  us  enter,  and. view  the 
workings  of  this  huge  monetary  machine,  the  vibration  of 
whose  mechanism  reaches  the  extremities  of  eartli.    You 


TdE  BANK   OF  ENGLAND.  81 

cross  a  small  court-yard,  and  mounting  a  few  steps  find 
yourself  in  a  large  saloon.  Along  the  sides  of  the  room, 
you  may  notice  lines  of  Bank  Clerks,  casting  up  ac- 
counts, weighing  gold,  and  paying  it  off  over  the  counter. 
In  front  of  each,  is  a  bar  of  dark  mahogany,  a  little  table, 
a  pair  of  scales,  and  a  few  persons  waiting  for  the  transac- 
tion of  their  business.  You  pass  from  this  Chamber  into 
a  more  extensive  apartment,  and  a  more  crowded  one,  for 
it  is  the  room  where  the  interest  on  the  Three  Per  Cents,  is 
paid,  and  it  is  the  middle  of  the  year.  What  a  crowd ! 
and  what  a  hubbub !  What  a  ringing  of  gold  pieces  as 
those  little  shovels  empty  themselves  of  their  shining  con- 
tents !  How  accurately  those  busy  clerks  shovel !  they 
never  have  a  sovereign  too  many  or  too  little. 

Leaving  this  chamber,  office  follows  after  office,  all  on 
the  ground  floor,  receiving  their  light  through  the  ceiling.. 
In  them  money  is  exchanged  for  notes,  and  notes  for 
money ;  the  interest  of  the  public  debt  paid ;  the  names 
of  creditors  booked  and  transferred.  In  a  word,  the  chief 
banking  business  with  the  outside  public,  is  done  here. 

The  huge,  yet  perfect  steam  engine  of  the  Bank,  by 
which  the  machinery  is  driven,  that  makes  the  steel  plates 
for  engraving  the  notes,  grinds  the  powder,  out  of  which 
the  ink  is  made,  prints  the  notes,  and  performs  a 
variety  of  other  feats  too  numerous  to  mention,  is  a  great 
triumph  of  human  skill  and  ingenuity.  The  room  where 
the  notes  are  printed  is  certainly  among  the  most  interest- 
ing in  the  Bank.  The  wonders  of  the  machinery,  here 
develop  themselves  to  their  utmost.  No  inspector  keeps 
watch  and  ward  over  the  printer.  The  machine  which  he 
uses  in  printing,  compels  him  to  be  honest.  Each  note 
has  its  own  number,  and  a  double   set  at  that.     This 


82 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


machine  registers  the  exact  numbers  that  are  being  printed, 
and  that  too  in  a  distant  part  of  the  establishment. 

In  the  weighing  ofl&ce,  you  are  delighted  in  witnessing 
the  ingenious  workings  of  the  machines  invented  for  de- 
tecting light  gold — nothing  can  be  more  simple,  and  yet 
more  eflficacious  in  its  operation.  Some  eighty  or  one  hun- 
dred light  and  heavy  sovereigns  are  placed  indiscriminately 
in  a  round  tube;  as  they  descend  on  the  machinery  beneath, 
those  that  are  light  receive  a  slight  touch  which  removes 
them  into  a  proper  receptacle;  and  those  which  are  of  legi- 
timate weight^  pass  to  their  appointed  place.  The  light 
coins  are  then  defaced  by  a  machine,  two  hundred  a 
minute.  There  are  six  of  these  machines  which  weigh 
several  millions  of  sovereigns  a  year.  The  average  amount 
of  gold  tendered  is  nine  millions  sterling,  of  which  more 
than  a  quarter  is  light.  In  a  long  low  narrow  vaulted 
passage,  heaps  upon  heaps  are  stowed  away,  each  in  their 
proper  receptacle,  the  returned  notes  of  the  Institution. 
Each  note,  on  being  paid  in  at  the  Bank,  receives  the  name 
of  the  person  presenting  it,  and  the  name  and  time  is  accu- 
rately noted  in  the  proper  ledger,  when  it  is  filed  away  in 
this  gloomy  looking  receptacle,  for  a  period  of  ten  years ; 
when  the  whole  accumulation  of  the  decade  is  burnt. 
Such  is  the  perfect  regularity  which  business  in  this  regard 
is  transacted,  that  any  person  who  has  within  ten  years, 
presented  a  bank  note  at  its  counter,  can  in  five  minutes 
be  shown  the  identical  note.  In  the  court-yard,  in  th« 
midst  of  an  immense  furnace,  we  noticed  the  smouldering 
ashes  of  notes  that  had  once  represented  some  fifty  millions 
of  pounds  sterling. 

The  Bank  of  England  has  passed  through  many  trials, 
but  has  outlived  them  all;  and  is  now  established  upon 


THE  BANK  OF  ENGLAND.  83 

a  very  firm  basis.  It  has  been  attacked  by  rioters,  its  notes 
have  been  at  a  heavy  discount;  it  has  been  threatened 
with  impeachment,  and  its  credit  has  been  assailed  by 
treachery.  But  it  possesses  the  power  of  great  accumu- 
lated wealth — and  aided  by  unrivalled  skill,  sober  and  mas- 
culine intellect,  it  must  ever  be,  what  one  of  our  own 
Presidents  declared  it,  "  the  centre  of  the  credit  system  of 
the  world.'' 


CHAPTER  V. 

Richmond  —  Twickenham  —  Strawberry  Hill. 

We  were  glad  to  tak£  refuge  from  the  suffocating  smoke, 
and  incessant  clatter  of  the  streets  of  London,  among  the 
quiet  shades  of  beautiful  Richmond-  There  are  many 
points  here  and  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  interesting  from 
their  literary  associations.  The  place  itself  was  the  home 
of  the  Poet  Thompson,  and  he  sleeps  under  a  grey  stone 
slab  in  its  ancient  church.  At  Rosedale  House,  where  he 
resided,  they  show  you  the  chair  on  which  he  sat,  the 
table  on  which  he  "wrote,  and  the  peg  on  which  he  hung  his 
hat.  In  the  garden  is  still  preserved  with  pious  reverence, 
the  poet's  favorite  seat,  and  there  too  is  the  table  on 
which  he 

"Sung  the  Seasons  and  their  change." 
At  Richmond,  Collins  too  resided  a  considerable  time,  and 
here  composed  many  of  his  most  charming  poems.  Poor 
Collins  !  his  fate  was  a  hard  one.  In  his  latter  years 
mental  depression  obscured  the  brightness  of  his  intellect, 
enchaining  his  faculties,  without  destroying  them,  and 
leaving  reason  the  knowledge  of  right,  without  the  power 
of  pursuing  it.  He  was  for  sometime  confined  in  a  lunatic 
asylum.  Collins  left  Richmond  after  the  death  of  his 
friend  Thompson,  whose  loss  he  so  pathetically  bewails  in 
those  lines  commencing, 

"In  yonder  grave  a  Druid  lies. 

Where  slowly  steals  the  winding  wave: 

The  year's  best  sweets  shall  duteous  rise 
To  deck  its  poet's  sylvan  grave.". 


RICHMOND.  85 

It  was  from  Riclimond  Hill  that  Thompson  looked  out 
with  a  poet's  eye,  and  all  a  poet's  appreciation  upon  that 
glorious  landscape  which  there,  in  the  bright  summer  time 
fills  the  heart  to  the  full  with  its  ravishing  beauty.  But 
the  Poet  of  the  Seasons  has  painted  it,  and  the  picture  is 
complete : 

"  Say,  shall  we  ascend 
Thy  hill,  delightful  Sheen?    Here  let  us  sweep 
.^       The  boundless  landscape  ;  npw  the  raptured  eye, 
Exulting,  swift  to  huge  Agusta  send. 
Now  to  the  sister  hills  that  skirt  her  plain  j 
To  lofty  Harrow  now,  and  now  to  where 
Imperial  Windsor  lifts  her  princely  brow. 
In  lively  contrast  to  this  glorious  view. 
Calmly  magnificent,  then  will  we  turn 
To  where  the  silver  Thames  first  rural  grows, 
There  let  the  feasted  eye  unwearied  stray 
Luxurious,  there,  rove  through  the  pendant  woods 
That  nodding  hang  o'er  Harrington's  retreat; 
And  sloping  thence  to  Ham's  embowering  glades; 
Here  let  us  trace  the  matchless  vale  of  Thames, 
Far  winding  up  to  where  the  Muses  haunt, 
To  Twickenham's  bowers ;  to  royal  Hampton's  pile, 
To  Claremont's  terraced  heights,  and  Esher's  groves. 
Enchanting  vale!  beyond  whate'er  the  Muse 
Has  of  Achaia,  or  Hesperia  sung." 

.  Richmond  too,  has  historic  memories  reaching  back  to  ' 
olden  time.  It  was  a  royal  residence  from  the  days  of  the 
First  Edward.  The  celebrated  Edward  III.  closed  a  long 
and  victorious  reign  at  his  palace  here.  In  the  latter  part 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  this  palace  was  consumed  by  fire; 
and  Henry  VII.  caused  it  to  be  rebuilt,  and  called  it  after 
himself,  Richmond.  And,  "  the  butcher's  dogge  did  lie 
in  the  manor  of  Richmonde,"  when  the  celebrated  Cardinal 
Wolsey  retired  here,  after  his   compulsory  donation   of 


86  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Hampton  to  the  blufif  Harry.  Here  too,  Queen  Elizabeth 
spent  a  portion  of  the  captivity  she  suffered  by  order  of 
her  sister  Mary ;  and  after  she  ascended  the  throne,  it 
became  one  of  her  favorite  residences.  Within  its  walls 
occurred  that  terrible  death-scene,  when  agony  and  remorse 
embittered  her  last  moments,  and  eshibited  the  once 
proud  and  powerful  Queen  in  a  most  humiliating  condition. 

Among  the  most  interesting  places  of  resort  in  Rich- 
mond is  its  Great  Park,  eight  miles  in  circuipfer- 
ence.  The  Park  is  of  a  gently  undulating  character, 
adorned  by  artificial  lakes,  and  noble  trees.  The  vast 
expanse  of  its  plains,  its  venerable  trees,  and  the  solitude 
and  seclusion  so  near  a  great  city,  are  its  chief  attractions. 
It  was  the  enclosure  of  this  Park,  that  so  excited  the  indig- 
nation of  the  people  against  King  Charles,  and  was  one 
among  the  many  charges  of  usurpation  and  tyranny,  that 
conspired  to  bring  him  to  the  scaffold.  Lord  John  Russel 
has  a  country  seat  here,  a  quiet  unpretending  mansion, 
embowered  in  roses  and  honeysuckles,  and  shaded  by 
noble  oaks,  that  are  almost  as  old  as  the  ancestral  roll  of 
the  Bedfords.  Richmond  is  the  great  resort  of  the  weal- 
thy and  pleasure  seeking  portion  of  London  during  the 
summer ;  and  well  it  may  be,  with  its  lofty  site,  and  its 
delightful  natural  surroundings. 

Twickenham,  nestling  upon  the  verdant  banks  of  Thames, 
among  embowered  shades  is  but  a  very  short  distance  from 
Richmond.  Here  Pope's  villa  once  stood;  but  now  the 
site  of  that  familiar  home  of  the  Muses,  is  desecrated 
by  some  Goth  of  a  tea  merchant,  who  has  dared  to  erect 
thereon  an  architectural  monstrosity,  half  pagoda,  half  tea- 
chest  :  and,  as  if  to  add  insult  to  injury,  the  fellow  has 
raised  a  sign-board  on  the  lot  adjacent,  where  one  may 


TWICKENHAM.  87 

tead  in  large  staring  characters,  ^^Popeh  Grove,  in  lots  to 
suit  purchasers — terms  easy."  The  Spirit  of  Speculation 
has  no  soul  for  poetry,  neither  has  "  Thomas  Young,  Tea 
Merchant."  One  surely  might  suppose  that  the  haunt  of 
such  an  ornament  of  their  literature,  such  a  master  of  their 
language,  would  have  been  thought  worthy  by  English- 
men, of  a  national  tutelage,  and  a  public  consecration. 
This  at  least,  should  have  been  sacred  ground — so  hallowed 
by  classic  association,  and  so  feelingly  and  beautifully 
alluded  to,  by  the  Poet  himself  in  those  admirable  lines : 

"  To  virtue  only,  and  her  friends  a  friend, 
The  world  beside,  may  murmur  and  commend, 
Know  all  the  distant  din  the  world  can  keep, 
Rolls  o'er  my  grotto,  and  but  soothes  my  sleep  j 
There  my  retreat  the  best  companions  grace. 
Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  Statesmen  out  of  place , 
There  St.  John  mingles  with  my  friendly  bowl, 
The  feast  of  reason,  and  the  flow  of  soul." 

In  his  private  relations,  there  never  existed  a  better  man 
than  Pope.  The  tender  care  and  affection  of  parents,  who 
had  preserved  him  to  the  world,  through  a  helpless  infancy, 
and  a  valetudinarian  childhood,  he  repaid  through  life, 
with  the  most  filial  respect,  and  untiring  affection.  The 
man  who  was  admired  and  loved  by  Swift,  Bolingbroke, 
Gray,  Young,  Arbuthnot — caressed  by  Bathurst,  Oxford 
and  Murray,  whose  friendships  were  as  fervent  as  his 
thoughts,  and  lasting  as  his  life,  must  have  had  no  ordinary 
art,  in  enchaining  the  affections  and  preserving  the  fond 
regard  of  such  as  he  honored  with  his  intimacy.  Here  in 
his  beautiful  retreat,  to  use  the  heart  language  of  one  of  his 
letters :  "  He  grew  fit  for  a  better  world,  of  which  the  light 
of  the  sun  is  but  a  shadow.  God's  works  here,  come  nearest 
God's  works  there ;  and  to  my  mind  a  true  relish  of  the 


88  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

beauties  of  nature,  is  the  most  easy  preparation,  and 
quietest  transition  to  those  of  Heaven."  Of  all  that  the 
Poet  loved  or  delighted  to  cherish  at  Twickenham — the 
Grrotto  now  alone  remains,  not  as  he  left  it,  it  is  true  ;  hut 
as  the  speculator  will  have  it.  The  House  of  the  Poet 
has  long  since  been  pulled  down,  by  Lady  Howe,  who  was 
the  first  purchaser,  to  show,  as  some  one  expressed  it^ 
"how  little  of  communion,  sympathy,  or  feeling  may  sub- 
sist in  the  breast  of  some  of  the  aristocracy  of  rank^  for 
the  abiding  place  of  the  aristocracy  of  Genius." 

"Strawberry  Hill,"  once  the  favorite  retreat  of  Horace 
Walpole,  is  but  a  very  short  distance  from  Twickenham. 
The  queer  old  Gothic  fabric,  is  now,  fast  falling  into  ruin. 
The  plaster  is  peeling  off,  and  the  bare  lath  exposed  in 
many  places.  The  rooms  are  now  all  dismantled.  The 
Picture  Gallery  gives  little  evidence  of  its  former  magnifi- 
cence. Nothing  remains  of  that  curious  collection,  he 
spent  years  in  gathering :  and  which  it  required  a  twenty- 
five  days'  sale  to  dispose  of — save  only  some  antiquated 
stained  glass  in  its  little  low  windows,  and  some  curious 
old  hangings  upon  the  walls  of  the  round  chamber,  where 
Selwyn  so  often  set  the  table  in  a  roar.  The  old  Library 
Chamber  still  exhibits  richly  painted  figures  on  its  low 
ceiling,  while  the  shelves  with  their  literary  treasures 
gone,  and  the  worm  eaten  library  table,  where  his  "  Castle 
of  Otranto"  was  written,  give  evidence  of  the  desolation 
that  now  reigns  in  all  the  chambers  where  the  old  literary 
gossip  once  delighted  to  wander  and  to  muse.  It  was  of 
this  house,  writing  to  his  friend  Conway,  and  dating  from 
the  place,  Walpole  says,  "you  perceive  I  have  got  into  a 
Bew  camp,  and  have  left  my  tub  at  Windsor.  It  is  a  little 
plaything  house  that  I  have  got,  and  is  the  prettiest  bauble 


STRAWBERRY  HILL.  89 

you   ever  saw.     It  is   set  in   enamelled  meadows,  with 
filagree  hedges  : 

"  A  small  Euphrates,  tbrough  the  piece  is  'rolled 
And  little  fishes  wave  their  wings  of  gold." 

It  was  here  that  he  collected  that  splendid  gallery  of 
paintings,  teeming  with  the  finest  works  of  the  greatest 
masters;  matchless  enamels  of  immortal  bloom  by  Bordier 
and  Zincke, — chasings,  the  workmanship  of  Cellini,  and 
Jean  de  Bologna — noble  specimens  of  Faenza-ware,  adorned 
by  the  pencils  of  Bobbia  and  Bernard  Pallizzi— ^glass  of  the 
rarest  hues  and  tints  executed  by  Cousin,  and  other  mas- 
ters of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries — Boman  and 
Grecian  antiquities  in  bronze  and  sculpture — exquisite 
and  matchless  missals,  painted  by  Baphael  and  Julio 
Clovio — magnificent  specimens  of  cinque-cento  armor — 
miniatures  illustrative  of  the  most  interesting  periods  of 
history — engravings  in  countless  numbers,  and  of  infinite 
value,  together  with  a  costly  library,  embracing  fifteen 
thousand  volumes,  and  abounding  in  splendid  editions  of 
the  classics.  But  Strawberry  Hill,  with  all  its  treasures, 
like  many  a  place  of  older  renown,  was  destined  to  illus- 
trate the  sad  truth,  that  ^^  nothing  on  earth  continueth  in 
one  stay."  The  antique  mirror  that  once  reflected  the  fair 
features  of  Mary  Stuart,  and  the  jewelled  goblet  that  was 
brimmed  with  ruby  wine,  at  the  chivalrous  feasts  of  the 
founder  of  "The  Order  of  the  Garter,'' — the  Damascened 
blade  that  hung  by  the  side  of  a  Du  Guesclin ;  all  once 
the  pride  of  the  owner  of  Strawberry  Hill,  have  passed 
with  the  rest  of  the  curiosity  shop,  into  the  various  cabi- 
nets of  Europe,  to  be  again  in  their  turn  dispersed,  or  lost 
sight  of  forever.  In  a  few  months  after  our  visit,  the  very 
h2 


90  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

gtructure,  once  adorned  by  all  these  wonders  was  pulled 
down,  to  make  room  for  a  larger  and  more  improved 
edifice,  for  the  residence  of  Earl  Waldegrave,  a  descen- 
dant of  Walpole. 

Leaving  Richmond  we  tarried  only  long  enough  at 
Windsor  to  explore  a  few  of  its  interesting  localities,  and 
to  find  that  the  authority  of  Swift  still  holds  good,  "  that 
the  town  is  scoundrel/'  Windsor,  and  its  surroundings, 
have  been  described  so  often  by  tourists,  that  it  would  be 
more  wearisome  than  "  a  twice  told  tale,"  to  repeat.  The 
range  of  State  apartments  in  its  ancient  Castle  is  indeed 
splendid^  hung  with  rare  paintings,  and  most  interesting 
portraits  of  some  of  the  earlier  sovereigns.  The  Vandyke 
room  devoted  to  portraits  of  Charles  I.  and  family,  by  the 
artist  who  has  given  his  name  to  the  chamber,  is  alone 
worth  the  visit.  There  is  a  strange  interest  awakened  in 
gazing  at  the  melancholy,  yet  beautiful  face  of  this  most 
unfortunate  of  monarchs,  who  only  proved  his  royalty 
when  it  was  too  late,  by  dying  nobly  on  the  scaffold.  The 
Chapel  of  St.  George  in  the  Castle,  next  to  that  of  Henry 
A'^II.'s  in  Westminster,  presents  the  finest  specimen  of 
the  florid  Gothic,  in  England.  Upon  entering,  your 
attention  is  attracted  at  once  to  the  roof.  It  certainly  is 
a  most  triumphant  display  of  art.  The  arches  seem  to 
spring  from  the  summits  of  the  graceful  columns,  like  the 
branches  of  the  palm  tree  at  Kew.  The  beautiful  inter- 
weaving of  these  arches  in  the  roof,  like  the  fibres  of  a  leaf, 
yet  all  arranged  in  perfect  form — the  lightness  and  elasti- 
city of  the  whole,  which  appears  as  if  supported  by  magic, 
mark  the  highest  excellence  in  construction  and  decoration. 
The  whole  reminds  one  of  Milton's  description  of  the 
Indian  tree : 


WINDSOR   CASTLE.  91 

«*Such  as  to  this  day,  to  Indians  known 
In  Malabar,  or  Deccan  spreads  her  arms 
Branching  so  broad  and  long,  that  on  the  ground 
The  bending  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow- 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  pillared  shade." 

For  Cathedrals  and  religious  Temples,  the  Gothic  is 
beyond  a  question,  the  only  true  style.  For  public  Halls 
of  State,  give  me  the  plain  and  simple  majesty  of  the 
Doric,  or  the  polished  elegance  of  the  Corinthian.  Cole- 
ridge somewhere  remarks,  that  music,  sculpture,  and  paint- 
ing, are  poetry  under  different  forms — and  surely  there  is 
poetry  in  a  Gothic  Cathedral.  One  of  the  most  celebrated 
monuments  erected  in  the  Chapel,  is  that  to  the  Princess 
Charlotte,  whose  memory  is  so  cherished  by  the  nation. 
I  cannot  see  how  it  is  possible  to  admire  th6  recumbent 
figure,  intending  to  represent  the  Princess,  as  she  lay  in 
death.  Artistically  it  may  be  very  fine;  but  it  is  too  shock- 
ingly natural,  if  not  indelicate — but  the  springing  figure, 
representing  her  as  rising  from  the  bed  of  death  towards 
the  regions  of  celestial  light,  attended  by  angels,  is  incom- 
parably fine.  One  of  the  angels  bears  the  babe  of  the 
Princess  in  her  arms ;  the  divine  rapture  of  the  face 
ef  the  principal  figure,  upon  which  celestial  light  seems 
breaking,  cannot  soon  be  forgotten.  The  array  of  banners 
of  Knights  of  the  Most  Noble  Order  of  the  Garter,  sus- 
pended over  the  stalls,  presents  a  very  curious  appearance. 
Nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  floor,  a  large  grey  marble  slab 
indicates  where  repose  the  remains  of  Henry  VIIL,  Jane 
Seymour,  and  an  infant  child  of  Queen  Anne.  What 
emotions  such  a  spot  is  calculated  to  awaken.  Here  the 
bloated  tyrant  sleeps  by  the  side  of  his  wife,  who  only 
escaped  the  executioner's  axe,  by  dying  too"  soon — and  close 
to  him  lies  the  gentle  monarch,  Charles  I.  finding  rest  only 


92  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

in  the  grave,  from  his  bloody  persecutors.  In  1813, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  Prince  Regent,  search  was  made 
for  the  bodies  of  Henry  VIII.  and  Charles  I.  The  coffin 
of  Henry  contained  nothing  but  the  bones  of  that  Prince, 
with  the  exception  of  a  small  portion  of  beard  under  the 
chin.  The  body  of  Charles  was,  however,  in  a  most 
remarkable  state  of  preservation.  The  complexion  of  the 
face  was  dark  and  discolored.  The  forehead  and  temples 
had  lost  nothing  of  their  muscular  substance;  the  carti- 
lage of  the  nose  was  gone,  but  the  left  eye  in  the  moment 
of  its  first  exposure  was  open  and  full,  though  it  vanished 
almost  immediately,  and  the  pointed  beard  was  perfect. 
The  shape  of  the  face  was  a  long  oval;  many  of  the  teeth 
remained,  and  the  left  ear,  in  consequence  of  the  interpo- 
sition of  some  unctuous  matter  between  it  and  the  cere- 
cloth, was  found  entire.  The  hair  was  thick  on  the  back 
part  of  the  head,  and  nearly  black.  On  holding  up  the 
head,  to  discover  the  place  of  separation  from  the  body, 
the  muscles  of  the  neck  had  evidently  contracted  them- 
selves considerably,  and  the  fourth  cervical  vertebra  was 
found  to  be  cut  through,  in  substance  transversely,  leaving 
the  divided  portions  perfectly  smooth  and  even ;  an  ap- 
pearance that  could  only  have  been  produced  by  a 
heavy  blow,  inflicted  with  a  sharp  instrument,  and  which 
famished  the  last  proof  wanting  to  identify  Charles  I.* 
I  was  afterwards  shown  a  crayon  sketch  taken  of  the  head, 
answering  perfectly  to  this  description,  and  strikingly  like 
the  portraits  of  the  monarch,  by  Vandyke. 

I   cannot   now   linger   over   the   historic  assoeiatioBS 
awakened  by  the   Castle   itself;  nor  will  I  attempt  to 

*  Sir  Henry  Halford's  Report  of  the  Exhumation. 


WINDSOR.  93 

describe  the  charming'  scenery  that  renders  Windsor 
Great  Park^  and  Virginia  Water  celebrated  all  over  the 
civilized  world ;  but  must  hasten  on  to  describe  Warwick, 
Kenilworth,  and  Stratford. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Warwick  —  Kenil  worth  — Stratford  —  Charlecottc. 

It  was  a  bright  and  beautiful  morning  when  we  set  out 
from  the  Regent's  Hotel,  Leamington,  for  \Yarwick  Castle : 
one  of  those  mornings  that  "Little  John,''  in  Robin 
Hood,  thought  "the  most  joyful  in  all  the  year;"  a  clear 
still  morning  in  June. 

"From  groves  and  meadows  all  impearl'd  with  dew, 
Rose  silvery  mists;  no  eddying  wind  swept  by; 
The  cottage  chimneys  half  concealed  from  view 
By  their  embowering  foliage,  sent  on  high 
Their  pallid  wreaths  of  smoke,  unruffled  to  the  sky." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  delightful  coolness  and  fragrance 
of  the  atmosphere,  laden  with  the  scent  of  the  new  mown 
hay ;  while  those  only  who  have  looked  out  on  a  morning 
landscape  in  England,  glittering  in  the  rays  of  the  newly 
risen  sun,  reflected  from  every  dew  drop,  and  luxuriant 
with  that  living  green,  which  alone  belongs  to  an  English 
clime,  can  attain  a  full  comprehension  of  its  surpassing 
loveliness.  It  was  not  long  before  we  found  ourselves 
knocking  at  the  door  of  the  outer  gateway  of  the  Castle, 
then  treading  the  narrow  approach,  cut  through  the  solid 
rock,  and  leading  up  to  the  old  home  of  many  afeudal 
baron.  Nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  graceful  sweep  of 
this  curious  pathway,  which  being  covered  with  ivy,  and 
its  summit  mantled  with  noble  trees,  hides  the  fine  propor- 
tions of  the  Castle,  until  they  burst  upon  you  all  at  once, 
as  the  pathway  terminates,     The  effect  is  certainly  very 


WARWICK.  96 

grand.  But  it  is  not  until  the  Great  Gateway  is  passed, 
that  you  learn  to  comprehend  the  vast  extent  of  the  build- 
ing. That  part  which  serves  as  a  residence,  is  then  seen 
on  the  left  hand.  Its  principal  front,  however,  is  turned 
from  you  toward  the  river  Avon ;  along  which  it  stretches 
for  four  hundred  feet.  Uninjured  hy  time — unaltered  in 
appearance  by  modern  improvements,  this  home  of  the 
once  mighty  chiefs  of  Warwick,  still  retains  that  bold, 
irregular  pleasing  outline,  so  peculiar  to  the  ancient  Gothic 
castellated  style.  Connected  as  this  Castle  is,  with  the 
earliest  periods  of  British  history,  its  massive  towers,  and 
ivy  clad  battlements  cannot  be  viewed  by  the  lovers  of 
antiquity,  nor  indeed  by  any  contemplative  mind,  without 
feelings  of  the  deepest  interest :  peopled  as  its  walls  have 
been  for  centuries,  by  heroes,  warriors,  and  statesmen, 
who  once  proudly  figured  on  the  theatre  of  life,  and  whose 
names  are  now  honorably  recorded  in  the  annals  of  fame. 
This^venerable  pile,  some  portions  of  which  have  resisted 
the  storms  of  war,  and  the  fury  of  tempests,  for  nearly  a 
thousand  years,  has  been  truly  described  by  Scott,  "as  the 
fairest  monument  of  ancient  and  chivalrous  splendor, 
which  yet  remains  uninjured  by  Time."  A  strong  outer 
wall,  with  all  needful  defences,  incloses  the  great  base 
court,  and  was  in  ancient  times,  surrounded  by  a  wide 
and  deep  moat,  which  is  now  drained  and  green  with 
vegetation ;  and  over  which  you  pass  by  a  small  bridge, 
to  stand  beneath  the  noble  arch  of  the  gateway,  still 
defended  by  its  ancient  portcullis.  This  Castle  has  been 
well  called  the  most  splendid  relic  of  feudal  times  in 
England.  Its  history,  is  a  history  of  a  long  line  of  the 
Earls  of  Warwick,  reaching  down  to  our  times  from  the 
days  of  William  the  Conqueror.     The  most  remarkable 


96  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

point  of  that  history  however,  was,  when  the  culmination 
of  its  glory  was  attained  in  the  person  of  "the  King 
Maker,"  whose  name  Shakspeare  has  made,  as  ho  prophe- 
sied it  would  be 

"  Familiar  in  our  mouths  as  household  words." 

But  we  have  no  inclination  to  dwell  upon  the  historic 
associations  clustering  round  this  noble  old  feudal  strong 
hold.  •  They  are  in  the  memory  of  every  lover  of  English 
history,  and  therefore  without  farther  pause,  let  us  visit 
its  interior.  Entering  the  inner  court,  and  passing  up  a 
grand  stone  stairway,  under  a  fine  old  arch  that  had  a 
look  of  Norman  stateliness  and  strength  about  it ;  a  large 
carved  oaken  door  opened  at  our  summons,  and  we  found 
ourselves  standing  in  the  baronial  Hall  of  the  Castle. 
It  has  recently  been  restored,  as  near  as  possible,  conform- 
ing to  the  ancient  model.  Parti-colored  marbles  of  a 
diamond  pattern  form  its  floor,  while  the  roof  is  of  the 
ornamental  Gothic,  in  the  spandrils  of  the  arches  of 
which  are  carved,  "  the  Bear  and  Bagged  Staff",''  the 
armorial  device  of  the  House  of  Warwick.  The  walls  are 
wainscotted  with  oak,  deeply  embrowned  by  age,  and  hung 
with  ancient  armor  worn  by  many  a  bold  Baron  of  the 
House,  in  those  fierce  struggles  on  English  soil,  and  upon 
the  scorching  plains  of  Palestine  where  "  the  Cross  out- 
blazed  the  Crescent."  Here  and  there  may  be  seen  the 
good  old  cross-bows,  that  had  twanged  in  many  a  stern 
border  struggle,  with  their  arrows 

"  Of  a  cloth  yard  long,  or  more." 
The  antlers  of  several  monarchs  of  the  herd,  who  had 
fiillen  in  the  chase,  graced  the  upper  part  of  the  magnifi- 
cent windows,  while  the  antiquated  looking  old  fire  place, 


fuBIVEE.SITTl 

WARWIORr=saSS^*^  97 

with  its  huge  logs  piled  before  it,  reminded  one  strongly  of 
the  olden  time,  when  the  mailed  retainers  of  the  ancient 
Barons,  gathered  in  cheerful  groups,  round  the  wide 
hearth. of  the  blazing  fire  place,  in  this  old  baronial  halt 
Three  large  Gothic  windows,  placed  in  deep  recesses,  shed 
a  pleasing  light  throughout  the  room,  while  busy  fancy 
led  back  to  deeds  and  days  of  other  years,  conjured  up  the 
mail-clad  knight — the  bold  but  lordly  baron,  and  the 
"  ladie  faire,"— peopling  with  ideal  beings,  a  spot  sq  truly 
appropriate  for  indulging  in  romantic  ideas.  Near  the 
middle  window  is  a  doublet  in  which  Lord  Brooke  was 
killed  at  Lichfield,  in  1643.  Opposite  to  the  noble  old 
fire-place,  hangs  a  rich  and  complete  suit  of  steel  armor, 
over  which  is  suspended  the  helmet,  studded  with  brass, 
usually  worn  by  CromWell.  The  prospect  irom  the  win- 
dows of  this  Hall,  is  indeed  charming.  The  soft  and 
classic  Avon,  here  "flows  gently''  one  hundred  feet  be- 
neath you,  laves  the  foundation  of  the  Castle,  and  continues 
its  meandering  way  through  the  extensive  and  highly 
cultivated  Park.  That  landscape  is  still  indelibly  im- 
pressed upon  the  memory.  On  the  right,  the  undulating 
foliage  of  forest  trees  of  every  hue,  intermingled  with  the 
stately  cedar  spreading  its  curiously  feathered  branches^ — 
and  the  verdant  lawns  where  nature  and  art  appear  to 
have  expended  their  treasures,  combined  to  form  a  land- 
scape of  surpassing  beauty.  On  the  left  are  seen  the  pictur- 
esque and-  ornamental  ruins  of  the  old  bridge,  with  shrubs 
and  plants  flinging  their  tendrils  round  its  ruined,  arches. 
I  should  have  loved  to  linger  in  that  old  Hall,  conjuring  up 
the  associations  that  in  such  a  place  ctowd  upon  the  most 
ordinary  imagination.  But  with  th«  large  party  that 
accompanied  us,  we  had  to  play  the  game  of  ^"^  follow  your 
I 


98  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

leader/'  and  so  were  conducted  throngh  state  room  after 
state  room  filled  with  paintings,  mosaic  tables,  richly 
carved  buffets^  gorgeous  furniture,  rare  and  splendid  china, 
with  articles  of  vcrtu  innumerable.  One  room  worthy 
of  all  praise,  was  that  known  as  ^'The  Cedar  Drawing 
Room,"  lined  with  the  most  fragrant  cedar  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  and  crowded  with  the  richest  furniture.  This 
furniture  is  antique;  the  mirrors,  screens,  and  shields 
splendid,  while  the  marble  chimney  piece  is  beautiful 
exceedingly.  A  table  stands  opposite  to  the  fire  place 
inlaid  with  lava  of  Vesuvius,  upon  which  is  a  marble  bust 
from  the  Giustiniani  Minerva  at  Rome,  flanked  with  noble 
Etruscan  vases :  upon  a  buhl  table,  near  the  west  window 
was  a  Venus,  beautifully  modelled  in  wax,  by  John  of 
Bologna.  Etruscan  vases  of  great  value,  are  placed  on 
fine  old  inlaid  cabinets  and  pedestals  in  various  parts  of 
the  room ;  while  pictures  from  the  strong  pencil  of  Van- 
dyke, in  contrast  with  the  rich  and  glowing  hues  of  Guido 
Reni,  arrest  your  attention  at  every  step.  Lady  Warwick's 
boudoir  is  a  lovely  little  room,  hung  with  pea-green  satin 
and  velvet.  The  ceiling  and  walls  were  richly  panelled, 
and  had  been  recently  painted  and  gilt,  while  the  ceiling 
itself  was  enriched  with  the  family  crest  and  coronet.  In 
this  cabinet,  I  noticed  two  portraits  painted  from  life,  by 
the  celebrated  Holbein,  of  Anna  Boleyn,  and  her  sister 
Mary.  They  are  both  radiant  with  beauty ;  but  all  seemed 
to  prefer  the  .mild  sweet  face  of  the  sister,  who  was  fortu- 
nate enough  not  to  attract  the  amorous  glances  of  the 
royal  Blue  Beard.  A  modern  picture  by  Eckhardt,  also 
commands  attention  and  admiration;  it  represents  "St. 
Paul  lighting  a  fire,"  after  landing  on  the  isle  of  Melita, 
and  is  remarkable  for  the  management  of  light  and  shade^ 


WARWICK.  99 

y 

and  the  serene  and  beautiful  expression,  which  is  revealed 
upon  the  face  of  the  Apostle,  by  the  flash  of  the  fire  he  is 
kindling.  A  noble  head  of  Luther,  by  Holbein,  and  the 
Head  of  an  old  man,  in  Ruben's  best  style;  together  with 
a  Boar  Hunt,  by  the  last  named  artist,  are  all  fin€  speci- 
mens of  these  celebrated  masters. 

Take  the  whole  range  of  apartments  in  this  Castle,  and 
nothing  can  exceed'  their  magnificence.  The  beautiful 
eff"ect  of  these  apartments  is  considerably  heightened  by 
by  the  harmony  observed  in  the  matchless  collection  of 
pure  antique  furniture  throughout  the  whole  suite.  Su- 
perb cabinets,  and  tables  of  buhl  and  marquetrie  of  the 
most  costly  finish,  splendid  crystal  and  china  cups,  flasks, 
and  vases  of  the  highest  style  of  Etruscan  skill,  bronzes 
and  busts  displaying  the  utmost  efi"ort  of  art  —  costly 
and  rare  antiques  are  scattered  through  all  the  rooms 
in  rich  profusion,  yet  with  most  exquisite  taste;  no  inno- 
vation of  the  modern  is  allowed  to  injure  the  efi"ect  of  the 
ancient;  all  is  costly,  all  is  rare,  yet  all  harmonious. 
The  private  apartments  of  this  Castle,  not  open  to  visitors, 
are  said  to  be  as  ample  and  justly  proportioned  as  the 
range  of  state  apartments,  and  as  richly  adorned. 

In  the  magnificent  grounds  attached  to  the  Castle  may 
be  seen  the  far-famed  Warwick  vase.  It  is  of  white  mar- 
\)le,  designed  and  executed  in  the  purest  taste  of  Greece, 
and  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  ancient  sculpture  at 
present  known;  compared  with  the  age  of  which,  even 
Warwick  Castle  is  but  the  thing  of  a  day.  It  was  found 
at  the  bottom  of  a  lake  at  Adrian's  villa^  near  Tivoli,  by 
Sir  William  Hamilton,  then  Ambassador  at  Naples,  from 
whom  it  was  obtained  by  the  late  Earl  of  Warwick,  (his 
maternal  nephew)  and  at  his  expense  conveyed  to  England, 


loo  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

and  placed  in  its  present  situation.  Th^  rase  is  of  circular 
shape,  and  capable  of  holding  one  hundred  and  thirty-six 
gallons.  It  has  two  large  handles  exquisitely  formed  of 
interwoven  branches,  from  which  the  tendrils,  leaves,  and 
clustering  grapes^  spread  round  the  upper  margin.  The 
middle  of  the  body  is. enfolded  by  the  skin  of  the  panther, 
with  the  head  and  claws  beautifully  finished :  above  are 
the  heads  of  Satyrs,  bound  with  wreaths  of  ivy,  accompa- 
nied by  the  vine-clad  spear  of  Bacchus  and  the  crooked 
staff  of  the  augurs;  and  it  rests  upon  vine  leaves,  that 
climb  high  up  the  sides,  and  are  almost  equal  to  nature. 

The  day  after  our  visit  to  Warwick,  we  left  Leamington 
for  Kenil worth,  only  some  five  miles  away.  Long  before 
reaching  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  pile,  we  could  dis- 
cern them  looming  up  in  majestic  grandeur.  Halting 
at  the  little  inn  near  the  ruin,  for  a  moment,  to  survey 
it,  we  crossed  the  road  to  the  great  gateway,  built 
by  that  bold,  bad  Earl  of  Leicester,  where  wc  encoun- 
tered a  rough-looking  specimen  of  humanity,.who  informed 
us,  "7^c  was  the  man  who  took  care  of  the  rvin."  Enter- 
ing the  small  gate,  we  passed  the  noble  Gate  House, 
with  its  majestic  portico,  still  sculptured  by  the  arms 
of  Leicester,  and  by  its  elaborate  architectural  adorn- 
ments attesting  the  magnificence  of  its  former  proprietor.* 
In  a  few  moments  we  were  standing  upon  the  green  sward, 
once  the  outer  court  of  tlie  Castle,  and  there  right  before 
118,  in  all  the  magnificence  of  ruin,  stood  the  hoary  pile. 
Proudly  seated  on  an  elevated  spot,  it  exhibits  in  grand 
display,  mouldering  walls,  dismantled  towers,  broken  bat- 
tlements, shattered  staircases,  and  fragments  more  or  less 
perfect,  of  arches  and  windows,  some  highly  ornamented 


KENILWORTH.  101 

aad  beautiful.  Nor  are  the  more  usual  picturesque  deco- 
rations wanting.  The  grey  moss  creeps  over  the  surface 
of  the  mouldering  stone,  and  the  long  spiry  grass  waves 
o'er  the  top  of  the  ramparts.  To  the  corners  and  cavities 
of  the  roofless  chambers  cling  the  nestling  shrubs,  while 
with  its  deepening  shades  the  aged  ivy  expands  in  cluster- 
ing masses  o'er  the  side  walls  and  buttresses ;  or  hangs  in 
graceful  festoons  from  the  tops  of  the  arches,  and  the 
tracery  of  the  windows.  The  grand  square  structure, 
which  we  passed  on  entering  the  court  yard,  was  formerly 
the  principal  entrance  to  the  Castle.  From  the  point 
where  we  first  halted,  to  gaze  upon  the  majestic  ruin, 
appear  what  is  styled  Caesar's  Tower,  and  Leicester's 
Buildings,  with  a  space  now  open  between,  but  once  occu- 
pied by  the  buildings  named  after  the  bluff  Harry,  who 
once  dishonored  them  with  his  presence.  The  vast  square 
building  on  the  right,  known  as  Caesar's  Tower,  is  the 
strongest,  most  ancient,  and  perfect  part  of  the  ruin.. 
Next  to  this  Tower,  stood  once  the  buildings  occupied  by 
retainers ;  but  scarcely  anything  remains,  except  the  crum- 
bling ruins,  piled  up,  upon  their  site.  Beyond  these  ruins, 
a  fragment  of  what  was  once  "The  Strong  Tower,"  lifts 
itself  in  air,  to  whose  summit  we  ascended,  over  the  crum- 
bling turrets  of  which  the  rich  ivy  hung  in  clustering 
masses.  It  was  to  one  of  the  chambers  in  this  very  Tower 
the  Countess  of  Leicester,  "  poor  Amy,"  was  conveyed,  as 
recorded  by  Scott  in  his  "  Kenilworth,"  after  she  had 
escaped  from  the  seclusion  of  Cumner  Hall.  It  was  by 
the  narrow  winding  stair,  now  very  much  dilapidated, 
by  which  the  poor  Countess  ascended  to  her  prison  cham- 
ber, that  we  reached  the  ruined  summit  of  the  Tower. 
From  its  top  a  most  charming  landscape,  spread  out  before 
i2 


102  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

the  eye.  Ilaving  with  me  an  engraving,  taken  from  a 
painting  of  Kenilworth,  before  the  spoiler  came,  it  was 
very  easy  to  trace  the  outer  wall,  the  inclosure,  and  the 
site  of  the  ancient  Lake,  which  once  spread  itself  over  the 
country  beyond  the  outer  wall  for  more  than  two  miles. 
How  different  now  the  prospect,  from  what  it  was  in  the 
time  of  Dudley,  Then  the  clear  waters  of  the  Lake  re- 
flected the  magnificent  proportions  of  Kenilworth, 

"  Where  mfghty  towers 
Upraised  their  heads  in  conscious  pride  of  strength," 

while  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  lay  the  wooded  pride 
of  its  noble  park,  embracing  some  twenty  miles  within  its 
range.  Now  meadows  green  with  the  luxuriance  of 
English  verdure  stretch  away  from  the  foot  of  the  ruin, 
and  fields  are  seen,  gently  undulating  with  their  ripened 
grain,  where  once  lay  outstretched  the  grassy  slopes  of  that 
most  "  delightsome  parke,''  which  then  abounded  in 

*'  Careless  red  deer 
Full  of  the  pasture." 

Descending  from  the  highest  point  of  this  Tower,  we 
soon  reached  the  old  Banquetting  Hall,  immortalized  in 
the  glowing  tale  of  the  Wizard  of  the  North ;  still  a  grand 
apartment  some  eighty-five  feet  long,  and  forty  wide. 
The  rich  tracery  which  adorned  its  noble  windows^  is 
plainly  discernible,  while  their  lofty  ruined  arches  are  now 
most  exquisitely  festooned  with  ivy.  The  two  bayed 
recesses — the  three  light  Gothic  windows,  and  fine  arched 
doorway  sculptured  with  vine  leaves,  are  now  covered  with 
the  richest  draperies  of  ivy,  and  have  a  very  picturesque 
appearance.  The  trunks  of  this  ivy,  are  of  great  thick- 
ness, and  so  old,  that  in  some  pLices  the  branches  are 


KENILWORTH.  103 

sapless  and  leafless,  Trhile  the  grey  stalks  seem  to  crawl 
about  the  ruins  in  sympathy.  Nature  has  been  the  uphol- 
sterer here,  and  hung  these  ancient  walls,  that  once  re- 
echoed to  the  merry  song,  the  banquet  mirth,  and  the  light 
step  of  the  sounding  dance,  with  tapestry  more  cunning 
and  exquisite  than  that  of  the  far-famed  Gobelins.  The 
old  carved  fire-place,  is  still  traceable,  and  tbe  original 
outline  of  the  chamber  almost  perfect.  As  I  stood  in  the 
deep  recess  of  one  of  ifes  noble  windows,  and  looked  out 
upon  the  scene,  on  a  branch  of  ivy  above  my  head,  a 
beautiful  bird  was  pouring  forth  all  the  melody  of  his 
soiH  through  his  golden  hued  throat.  Never  had  I  listened 
to  anything  half  so  exquisite.  The  sound  seemed  to  fill 
those  deserted  chambers  with  melody.  "  The  princely 
home  of  mighty  .chiefs^ ^^  had  become 

"A  shelter  for  the  bird  who  stays 
His  weary  wing  to  restj" 

and  from  the  ivy  that  mantled  the  chamber,  where  often 
human  revelry  had  awakened  its  echoes  into  song,  was 
caroling  forth  the  sweetest  lays.  Nothing  can  describe 
the  sense  of  perfect  desolation,  as  you  stand  within  this 
ruined  Hall,  it  falls  with  crushing  weight  upon  the  spirits, 
and  brings  before  you  in  all  its  startling  power,  the  stern 
conviction  of  the  complete  emptiness  of  all  worldly  state 
and  grandeur. 

A  few  days  after  our  visit  to  Kenilworth,  we  drove  over 
to  Stratford,  passing  again  through  the  old  town  of  War- 
wick, with  its  curious  antiquated  little  houses,  and  lis 
ancient  hospital,  founded  by  Leicester  during  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth.  Cold  indeed,  must  be  the  heart,  that  would 
pass  by  as  devoid  of  a  reverential  interest,  the  spot 

"  Where  Nature  list'ning  stood,  whilst  Shakspeare  played, 
And  wonder'd  at  the  work,  herself  had  made. 


104  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

The  little  town  of  Stratford,  is  like  most  country  towns 
in  England,  with  a  street  directly  through  it,  and  others 
deviating  to  the  right  and  left.  Some  of  the  shops  have 
quite  a  modern  appearance,  ornamented  with  modern  plate 
glass,  and  stored  with  quite  an  extensive  assortment  of 
goods.  The  Shaksperian  part  of  Stratford,  has  quite  an 
antiquated  appearance,  and  looks  as  if  few  changes  had 
passed  over  it  since  the  hoy  Shakspeare  disported  himself 
in  its  quiet  streets.  The  house  where  the  great  dramatist 
first  saw  the  light,  is  situated  in  Henley  street;  a  small 
insignificant  abode,  and  at  once  arrests  attention,  from  the 
singularity  of  its  structure.  The  front  has  no  glazed  case- 
ment^ but  is  protected  from  the  rain  and  sun  by  a  droop- 
ing shed,  like  a  flap  of  a  table.  Above  the  shed  is  a  kind 
of  sign  board  jutting  out  into  the  street,  on  which  is 
inscribed,  ^<The  immortal  Shakspeare  was  born  in  this 
House."  Above  is  a  window  in  four  compartments,  with 
small  cottage-like  panes  of  glass.  This  window  lights  the 
scene  of  the  Poet's  nativity.  You  enter  the  little  shop 
below,  guarded  by  a  rustic  half  door,  and  soon  find  your- 
self on  sacred  ground  :  the  shop  is  very  small,  at  the 
back  of  which  is  a  kitchen  smaller  still,  where  the  boy 
Shakspeare  is  supposed  to  ha;ve  passed  many  happy  hours. 
The  walls,  windows,  and  even  the  ceiling  abound  with 
snatches  of  poetry,  names  of  visitors,  &c.  You  ascend- 
eagerly  the  tottering  staircase,  and  find  yourself  in  the 
chamber  where  the  idol  of  your  adoration,  is  believed 
to  have  been  ushered  into  the  vewesk.  On  arriving  there 
you  instinctively  advance  with  head  uncovered,  f<)r  you 
feci  that  you  are  treading  a  spot  hallowed  by  the  birth  of 
the  greatest  genius  the  world  has  ever  known.  The  room 
is  80  small  that  a  man  of  medium  height,  can  touch  the 


STRATFORD.  105 

ceiling  with  his  hand.  The  chamber  else,  is  rather  largfe 
for  the  building.  You  go  to  the  front  windows,  and 
there  upon  the  panes  written  in  diamond,  may  read  the 
names  of  Scott,  Byron,  Irving,  Willis,  and  of  a  host  of 
other  celebrities;  and  in  large  characters,  the  name  of  one 
of  the  innumerable  family  of  Smiths,  the  veritable  John. 
There  is  now  in  fact,  no  space  on  any  one  of  the  panes 
for  the  minutest  letter.  The  ceiling  and  walls  are  so  filled 
with  inscriptions,  lines  of  poetry,  &c.,  that  the  appearance 
presented  from  the  middle  of  the  room,  is  that  of  a  large 
spider's  web.  These  inscriptions,  objectionable  as  they 
may  be,  in  other  public  places,  here  betotcn  a  feeling  of 
rather  a  praiseworthy  character.  They  tell  of  the  univer- 
sality of  the  poet's  fame,  inasmuch  as  there  is  scarcely  a 
Spot  on  the  civilized  globe,  that  has  not  its  representative 
here.  The  witty  Matthews,  in  his  journal,  relates  some 
amusing  anecdotes  respecting  the  visits  of  actors  to  this 
birthplace  of  Shakspeare.  Speaking  of  Coates,  he  says^ 
'^he  wrote  his  name  on  the  walls  of  the  house,  complained 
of  the  house,  said  it  was  not  good  enough  for  the  divine 
bard  to  have  been  born  in,  and  propo'sed  to  pull  it  down 
at  his  own  expense,  and  build  it  up  again,  so  as  to  appear 
more  worthy  of  such  a  being.'^  "Dowton  too  kicked  up 
a  great  dust  in  the  house  where  Shakspeare  was  born.'' 
The  old  woman  who  shows  it,  remembered  him  well.  He 
must  have  been  delirious  with  drink.  ^'  There  go ;  I 
cannot  have  witnesses,  I  shall  cry;  and  so  eh  ?  What 
the  divine  Billy  born  here ;  he,  the  pride  of  all  nature  has 
been  in  this  room.  I  must  kneel !  leave  me.  I  don't  like 
people  to  see  me* cry !"  Bannister,  too,  went  there  after 
dinner,  for  the  ihird  time  in  one  day ;  threw  himself  upon 
the  bed,  in  which  the  dear  lying  woman   swears   that 


106  rOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

Shakspeare  was  born,  nay  shows  the  chair  he  was  nursed 
in.  But  Jack  threw  himself  in  his  drunken  raptures  on 
the  bed,  and  nearly  smothered  two  children  who  were 
asleep,  till  his  raptures  awoke  them.'' 

For  a  century  and  a  half  after  the  death  of  the  world'^s 
poet,  this  house  remained  the  property  of  private  indi- 
viduals. A  committee  of  gentlemen  purchased  it  in  1847, 
for  the  sum  of  three  thousand  pounds,  and  it  is  now 
secured  forever,  as  the  pride  and  honor  of  the  British 
Nation. 

The  Church,  where  the  remains  of  the  Great  Dramatist 
rest,  is  situated  on  the  Avon,  whose  branches  entangle 
with  the  stems  of  the  water-lilies  that  grow  along  its  banks. 
The  tower,  transepts  and  some  other  portions,  are  in  the 
early  English  style,  and  are  very  perfect — the  remainder 
belongs  to  a  later  period,  but  is  not  less  graceful.  The 
approach  to  the  Church  from  the  town,  is  by  a  curious 
avenue  of  old  lime  trees,  forming  a  perfect  arbor  overhead, 
by  the  interlacing  of  their  branches.  As  you  enter  the 
first  glance  reveals  to  you  the  sacredness  of  the  place. 
The  anxious  eye  is  not  long  in  discovering  the  poet's  grave. 
On  the  left  hand  side  near  the  great  window,  may  be  dis- 
cerned set  in  the  wall,  his  monument,  and  almost  beneath 
it  but  a  short  distance  removed,  a  small  grey. slab  covers 
all  of  the  Poet,  that  could  die,  with  the  well-known  and 
oft-repeated  inscription,  which  they  tell  you,  has  served 
more  than  anything  else  to  preserve  sacred  his  bones:  but 
I  doubt  very  much  if  the  Poet  himself  ever  composed  such 
vile  doggerel.  The  bust  in  his  monument  looks  placidly 
down  upon  you,  and  whether  the  resemWance  be  true  or 
DOt,  you  get  reconciled  to  the  hope  that  it  is  an  exact  like- 
ness.    They  all  say  at  Stratford  that  it  was  taken  from  a 


STRATFOFD.  107 

cast  made  of  his  face  after  death,  and  I  believe  that  was 
always  the  opinion  of  the  celebrated  sculptor  Chantrey. 
The  rest  of  the  Shakspeare  family  lie  side  by  side  on  the 
elevated  step  close  to  the  rails  of  the  altar. 

On  returning  from  Stratford,  I  could  not  help  reflecting 
upon  the  potency  of  such  a  fame  as  Shakspeare's.  Pilgrims 
of  all  ages  and  lands  go  to  Stratford,  to  see  what?  A 
little  low  dingy  room,  inclosed  by  four  mean  white  washed 
walls,  and  a  plain  grey  slab  in  a  country  Church,  with  an 
inscription  thereon.  But  Shakspeare  was  born  in  the 
one,  and  his  honored  remains  repose  under  the  other.  la 
that  humble  looking  chamber,  did  one  of  the  greatest 
minds  the  Divine  Being,  ever  sent  into  the  world,  first  see 
the  light,  fii'st  look  through  an  infant's  eyes  upon  a  fond 
mother's  smiles  and  tears.  There  beneath  that  humble 
shed,  lay  the  winged  genius  in  *^its  callow  down,"  nest- 
ling close  to  the  parent  bosom :  but  destined,  in  time,  to 
sweep  through  the  regions  of  thought  with  the  undaz- 
zled  eye,  and  upon  the  strong  pinion  of  the  eagle.  There 
he  was  born — and  that  fact  sheds  a  splendor  over  the  walls, 
more  dazzling  far  than  tapestries,  mirrors,  pictures,  and 
all  the  pomp  that  king's  palaces  can  bestow.  Genius  has 
a  kingship  of  its  own ;  it  needs  no  mantle,  orb,  or  sceptre. 
It  is  its  own  regalia — and  before  its  inherent  majesty, 
crowned  heads,  heroes,  statesmen,  philosophers,  and  poets 
have  done,  and  will  continue  to  do  the  most  reverent 
homage.  This  spell  of  beauty,  which  genius,  casts  over 
objects  but  little  interesting  in  themselves,  such  as  blasted 
oaks,  and  time  worn  battered  cottages,  manifests  the  su- 
periority of  time  over  matter,  and  proves  how  the  associa- 
tions of  the  intellect,  can  ennoble  the  meanest  forms  of 
of  materialism,  and  create  the  most  interesting  memorials 
out  of  the  lowest  things. 


108  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

On  our  drive  homeward,  we  passed  the  se§t  of  the 
Luceys,  whose  ancestor,  arraigned  the  youthful  Shakspoare 
for  deer  stealing.  This  fine  old  country  mansion,  is  one 
of  a  class  which  we  regret  to  say,  is  fast  disappearing 
both  from  the  inroads  of  decay,  and  their  own  weight  of 
years.  It  was  erected  by  Sir  Thoms  Lucey,  whose  hated 
memory  Shakspeare  embalmed  in  ridicule  for  ever,  under 
the  character  of  Justice  Shallow,  Having  been  erected  in 
the  first  year  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  it  retains  all  the  quaint 
old  features,  which  were  a  peculiarity  in  the  architecture 
of  that  period.  So  little  changed  is  the  place,  that  fancy 
may  almost  unbidden,  call  up  the  aspect  of  the  scene, 
when  that  youth,  "  who  was  for  all  time,''  wandered  along 
its  thick  hedged  lanes.  You  can  almost  think  you  hear 
the  voice  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucey,  chiding  his  game. keeper, 
for  "  the  loss  of  the  fallow-deer;"  and  the  half  suppresse-d 
chuckle  of  a  youthful  by-stander,  then  unknown:  but  who 
was  afterwards  to  fill  the  world  with  his  fame.  The  man- 
sion from  the  road,  appears  quite  unaltered,  the  humbler 
dwellings  of  red  brick,  only  a  little  older;  park  palings 
merely  made  more  picturesque  by  the  overgrown  lichen  ; 
and  the  park  as  well  as  "  the  sweet  Avon,"  exactly  as  they 
were  many  years  ago,  the  one  "flowing  gently,"  and  the 
other  supplying  as  of  yore 

"Many  an  oak,  whose  bows  are  mossed  with  age, 
And  high  lop  bald  with  dry'antfquity." 

While  the  same  deer,  *^poor  dappled  fools,"  only  look 
more  conscious  than  they  did,  of  more  perfect  safety  in  their 
assigned  and  native  dwelling  place.  Art  and  nature  here 
seemed  to  have  stopped  short  of  all  improvement.  There 
has  been  no  need  of  the  one  to  disturb  the  renown  which 
the  locality  receives  from  the  other.    Even  the  stocks  that 


STRATFORD.  J09* 

stand  under  a  group  of  patrician  trees,  are  suffered  to  die 
of  natural  decay.  Charlecotte,  has  a  renown  given  to  it 
by  Shakspeare,  which  the  present  owner  and  direct  descen- 
dant of  Sir  Thomas  Lucey  would  willingly  let  die.  The 
present  young  Lord  of  the  Manor,  feels  to  this  day,  the 
sting  of  the  Poet's  sarcasm  upon  his  ancestor. 

The  whole  neighborhood  around  is  full  of  beauty.  The 
ground  is  passing  rich,  while  at  every  moment  through 
some  leafy  avenue,  glimpses  are  caught  of  the  "gently 
flowing  Avon."  Amid  these  dells,  and  by  these  verdant 
hill-sides,  was  the  youth  of  Shakspeare  nourished,  and 
taught  of  nature : 

"  Here,  as  with  honey  gathered  from  the  rock, 

She  fed  the  little  prattler,  and  with  songs 

Oft  sooth«d  his  wondering  ears  with  deep  delight." 

Every  stop  you  tread  is  hallowed  ground.  Here  in  all 
this  neighborhood  h^  passed  many  a  happy  hour  when  a 
boy;  or  when  he  retreated  back  to  his  birth-place,  from 
the  turmoil  of  a  busy  life,  to  die  like  the  deer  "where  he 
was  roused." 


CHAPTEK    YII. 

Hampton  Court  and  Bushy  Park. 

••Close  by  those  meads,  forever  crowned  with  flowers, 
"Where  Thames  with  pride,  surveys  his  rising  towers, 
There  stands  a  structure  of  majestic  frame, 
"Which  from  the  neighboring  Hampton  takes  its  name." 

The  Poet's  pencil  has  not,  with  all  the  richness  of  its 
coloring,  given  full  expression  to  the  natural  beauties  of 
Hampton.  Just  as  the  most  finished  artist  fails  to  catch 
the  rich  tinge  of  Aurora^s  fingers  along  the  glowing  East, 
so  the  Poet  has  failed  from  want  of  power  to  give  expression 
in  his  poem,  to  all  the  luxuriance  and  loveliness  of  the 
natural  beauties  of  Hampton.  Well  might  an  enthusiastic 
tourist  exclaim  as  he  grew  enraptured  o'er  the  remembrance 
of  the  unrivalled  beauty  of  its  landscape:  "That  nature 
at  Hampton  builds  up  aisles  and  transepts,  courts  and  halls 
of  her  own — mighty  pillars,  far  excelling  in  sublimity  the 
memorials  of  the  magnificent  Wolsey :  and  she  here  dis- 
plays brilliant  landscapes,  before  which  the  drawings  of 
Raphael,  the  composition  of  Poussin,  the  coloring  of  Claude, 
must  sink  into  insignificance." 

No  city  in  the  world  can  boast  of  more  charming  envi- 
rons than  London.  What  delightful  rural  retreats  are 
furnished  in  the  opening  lawns  and  verdant  glades  of  Bushy 
Park,  or  in  the  shaded  terraced  walks  of  lofty  Richmond, 
o'erlooking  all  the  vale,  with  its  noble  Park,  where  the 
red  deer  love  to  haunt!  What  place  more  serene  in  its 
quiet  beauty  than  Esher,  in  whose  lonely  vale, 

"The  Mole  glides  lingering j" 


HAMPTON   COURT.  Ill 

or  Claremont  in  its  close  vicinity.  And  there  is  noble  Wind- 
sor, with  all  the  rich  memories  that  haunt  its  feudal  pile 
"from  turret  to  foundation  stone*^ — and  the  aged  oaks  of  its 
grand  old  Forest  chronicling  centuries,  with  the  verdant 
sward  overshadowed  by  those  stately  elms,  "  in  the  long 
drawn  aisles"  of  its  magnificent  Parks. 

Hampton  occupies  a  peninsula  almost  encircled  by  the 
Thames.  The  Palace,  however,  to  the  generality  of  tour- 
ists, affords  the  greatest  attraction  of  Hampton.  Like  all 
the  structures  in  England,  full  of  historic  memories,  it  is 
the  more  interesting,  because  its  incidents  are  so  familiar. 
We  gaze  upon  the  Castles,  and  ruined  fortresses  of  the 
middle  ages  on  the  continent ;  but  the  associations  they 
awaken  are  unsatisfactory :  we  see  everything  as  through 
a  mist,  unsubstantial,  shadowy,  and  vague.  But  in 
England,  they  start  out  in  bold  reality — and  once 
familiar  with  the  scene, — the  figures  of  the  past,  that 
busy  memory  conjures  up,  pass  over  the  stage  with  the 
show  of  an  almost  living  presence.  Thus  is  it  at  Hamp- 
ton. As  you  gaze  upon  that  grand  old  pile,  the  mind 
is  carried  instinctively  back  to  the  stirring  and  familiar 
times,  when  Wolsey  lived  here  in  more  than  royal  state ; 
when  Elizabeth  summoned  Shakspeare  to  entertain  her 
upon  the  stage,  when  the  unhappy  Stuart  here  found  him- 
self the  prisoner  of  his  subjects :  and  his  oppressor  led  a 
a  life  of  suspicion,  and  never  ending  fear,  finding  that 
even  the  outside  show  and  semblance  of  sovereignty, 
brought  with  it  all  the  cares  that  wait  upon  a  crown.  But 
the  changing  fortunes  of  the  founder  of  this  ancient 
palace,  awaken  as  you  gaze  upon  it,  the  most  interesting 
memories.  Romance  has  no  tale  so  full  of  interest — life 
no  real  story  of  vicissitude  half  so  strange;  and  death  no 


112  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

scene  of  more  thrilling  horror — than  may  be  read  in  those 
historic  pages,  which  record  the  strange  history  of  that  son 
of  the  obscure  butcher  of  Ipswich,  who,  from  his  nest  upon 
the  ground,  soared  so  high;  who  from  the  shambles, 
reached  that  point  of  exaltation,  when 

"  Law  in  his  voice,  and  fortune  in  his  hand, 

To  him,  the  Church,  the  realm,  their  power  resign." 

And  then  that  startling,  sudden  fall,  where  having  touched 
the  highest  point  of  all  his  greatness,  he  fell, 

"  Like  Lucifer, 
Never  to  rise  again." 

At  .the  Restoration,  this  Palace  reared  by  the  munifi- 
cence of  "Wolsey  passed  into  the  hands  of  that  shrewd 
soldier,  Monk,  Duke  of  Albemarle,  offered  to  him  by  a 
grateful  monarch,  as  a  reward  for  the  conspicuous  part  he 
played  in  the  great  event.  But  he  was  too  politic  to  hold 
a  place,  that  he  had  not  the  revenues  to  support,  and 
accepting  a  large  sum  of  money  in  lieu  thereof,  it  reverted 
back  to  the  crown,  in  whose  possession  it  has  ever  since 
remained.  From  the  reign  of  the  second  George,  I  believe 
it  has  not  been  honored  as  the  residence  of  the  sovereign, 
and  at  the  present  day  many  of  the  apartments  are  occu- 
pied by  the  widows  of  soldiers,  and  men  who  have  done 
the  state  some  service ;  but  whose  limited  means  compel 
them  to  accept  this  asylum  offered  to  them,  by  a  grateful 
sovereign. 

Pope  has  rendered  Hampton  Court  classic  ground,  by 
locating  within  its  calm  and  beautiful  retreats,  the  scene 
of  his  celebrated  "Rape  of  the  Lock."  Here,  side  by 
side,  with  the  beautiful  Miss  Lcpel,  afterwards  Lady  Her- 
vey,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  wandering ;  and  here  he  drew 


HAMPTON   COURT.  113 

from  nature,  the  illustrations  that  make  that  poem  so 
charming.  How  exquisitely  does  he  depict  the  mode  of 
killing  time  by  inches,  in  vogue  with  the  courtiers  of  that 
day  : 

"  Hither  the  heroes,  and  the  nymphs  resort 

To  taste  awhile,  the  pleasures  of  a  court; 

Iq  various  talk  th'  instructive  hours  they  passed — 

Who   gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last! 

One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  Queen, 

And  one  describes  a  charming  Indian  screen  ; 

A  third,  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes. 

At  every  word,  a  reputation  dies. 

Snuff  and  the  fan,  supply  each  pause  of  chat, 

With  singing,  ogling,  and  all  thazP 

But  let  US  hasten  to  enter  the  Palace,  rendered  so  inte- 
resting by  the  historic  and  literary  associations  that  clus- 
ter about  it.  Of  the  five  courts,  composing  the  original 
palace  of  Wolsey,  only  two  now  remain  in  the  condition 
they  were  during  the  time  of  the  Cardinal.  The  first,  or 
outer  court,  is  said  to  be  precisely  in  the  condition  it  was  ' 
left  by  him ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  improved  by  a  long 
line  of  stables  and  barracks,  always  unsightly,  but  never 
more  so,"than  when  they  disfigure  walls,  hallowed  by  the 
traditions  and  remembrances  of  the  past.  Standing  beneath 
the  colonnade  at  one  end  of  the  middle  quadrangle,  you 
have  a  good  view  of  the  south  side  of  Wolsey's  Hall,  with 
the  great  windows.  The  octagonal  turrets  on  either  side 
of  the  gateway  are  highly  characteristic  of  the  architectu- 
ral taste  of  the  time.  The  medallions  of  Roman  Empe- 
rors in  terra  cotta^  placed  in  the  brickwork  of  these  towers, 
and  on  those  of  the  adjoining  court,  are  said  to  have  been 
the  gifts  of  the  celebrated  Leo  X.  to  the  Cardinal. 
The  oriel  windows  on  both  the  gateways  of  this  court, 
adorned  with  the  escutcheons  of  Henry  VIII.  have  ffreat 
k2 


114  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

richness,  and  elegance.  Yon  enter  the  building,  through 
the  before  mentioned  colonnade,  and  pass  np  "  The 
King's  Staircase,"  into  what  is  known  as  the  Guard 
Chamber.  The  ceiling  of  this  staircase  was  painted  by  the 
ubiquitous  Verrio,  the  allegorical  creatures  of  whose  genius 
look  down  upon  you  from  the  ceilings  of' half  the  struc-, 
tures  in  the  kingdom.  The  pictorial  nonsense  here  dis- 
played, is  said  to  shadow  forth  in  allegory  a  courtier's  com- 
pliment to  royalty ;  but  as  the  study  involved  a  severe 
straining  of  the  vertebrae  of  the  neck,  it  would  hardly  re- 
pay the  sacrifice,  and  so  we  passed  into  the  Guard  Room. 
Here  the  same  ingenuity,  that  at  the  Tower,  has  thrown 
together  in  so  many  fantastic  forms,  the  arms  of  difi'erent 
centuries,  has  been  at  work ;  and  muskets,  halberds,  pis- 
tols and  swords,  drums,  bandaliers  and  frontlets  are  min- 
gled together  in  devices  most  strange,  and  yet  most  beau- 
tiful in  their  general  effect.  A  thousand  men  might  from 
this  singularly  grouped  armory  along  the  walls,  put  them- 
selves in  order  of  battle.  Nor  are  pictures  wanting  to 
embellish  this  grim  looking  armory.  The  pencils  of 
Giulio  Romano,  Canaletto,  and  Zucchero,  all  have  contri- 
buted to  adorn  its  panels.  There  is  the  kingly  mass  of 
the  Coliseum,  by  Canaletto,  as  faithful  in  its  representation, 
as  his  wondrous  pictures  of  Venice.  And  there,  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  his  master,  both  in  conception  and  execution, 
Romano  has  told  the  story  of  that  fierce,  unequal  fight, 
between  Constantine  and  Maxentius.  Turning  from  the 
wonders  of  art,  you  may  look  out  upon  the  wonders  of 
nature  from  these  noble  old  windows.  From  them,  what  a 
t'lch  prospect  spreads  out  before  you — there  are  the  rivers 
Thames,  Mole,  and  Ember;  the  Surrey  hills  in  the  distance; 
the  gras'sy  slopes,  yew  trees,  and  Queen  Mary's  bower  in  the 
foreground,     Letivitfg  this  GuUrd  Room,  you  pass  through 


HAMPTON   COURT.  116 

room  after  room  filled  from  ceiling  to  floor  "with  a  great 
collection  of  paintings,  from  the  works  of  the  first  masters, 
down  to  some  of  the  most  wretched  daubs  of  modern  times. 
In  the  large  Hall,  known  by  the  name  of  Her  Majesty's 
Gallery,  may  be  seen  portraits  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  taken 
from  life,  in  infancy,  girlhood,  and  old  age.  There  is  the 
faintest  blush  of  beauty  on  the  haby  cheek  of  the  future 
Queen — gone,  entirely  gone  in  the  face  of  the  young  girl 
of  sixteen,  who  stands  before  you  at  full  length,  with 
attenuated  features,  and  neck  disgustingly  thin.  But 
what  shall  I  say  of  that  concentration  of  ugliness,  if  not  of 
deformity,  that  looks  down  upon  you,  from  the  portrait  of 
this  Queen,  in  her  maturer  years; — hair  of  the  brightest 
red,  a  face  over  which  the  ploughshare  of  Time^  has  passed 
in  many  a  furrow,  and  ''that  pale  Roman  nose,^'  as  Wal- 
pole  calls  it — all  combine  to  give  you  the  idea  of  the  ugliest 
of  mortals.  And  yet  this  hideous  old  hag  had  the  vanity 
to  have  herself  painted  in  an  allegorical  picture,  in  which 
Venus  is  represented  as  hiding  her  eyes  from  the  dazzle  of 
her  beauty,  and  Juno  retiring  from  the  useless  competition. 
There  are  also  several  portraits  of  that  royal  Blue  Beard 
Henry  VIII.  in  this  chamber,  taken  at  different  periods  of 
his  life  ;  but  all  revealing  in  the  sensual  face,  the  base  soul 
that  lurked  within.  A  portrait  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  by 
Holbein,  excites  considerable  interest.  It  furnishes  a 
curious  illustration  of  the  costume  of  the  '"'gay  and  gal- 
lant,'' at  the  Court  of  the  bluff  Harry.  It  is  a  full  length, 
dressed  entirely  in  scarlet.  The  character  of  this  young 
nobleman,  reflects  splendor  even  upon  the  name  of  How- 
ard. With  the  true  spirit  and  dignity  of  an  English 
nobleman,  and  a  personal  courage  almost  romantic,  he 
united  a  politeness  and  urbanity  at  the  time  almost  peculiar 


116  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

to  himself.     With  the  story  of  the  great  love  entertained 
by  this  agreeable  poet  and  accomplished  gentleman,  for 
the    beautiful    Geraldine,    the   whole    literary   world   is 
familiar.     Near  this  portrait  of  Surrey,  may  be  noticed  that 
of  Will  Somers,  the  celebrated  jester,  who  is  reported  to 
have  been  the  only  person  that  dare  say  truthful,  and  neces- 
sarily severe  things  to  his  brutal,  lustful  master.     This  ex- 
traordinary court  fool,  ig  portrayed  behind  a  glazed  lattice, 
tapping  with  his  knuckles,  seemingly  to  arrest  the  passer- 
by, that  he  may  play  off  upon  him,  some  sallies  of  his  wit. 
The  countenance  is  replete  with  that  expression  of  peculiar 
humor,  which  speaks  volumes,  upon  the  character  of  such 
whimsical   retainers  of  the    Court.     A  most  interesting 
picture  by  Holbein,  is  in  the  "Queen's  Audience   Cham- 
ber," being  a  portrait  group,  representing  Henry  VIII.  and 
family.     The  King  is  seated  on  a  chair  of  state,  under  a 
rich  canopy,  with  Queen  Jane  Seymour,  Princesses  Mary 
and  Elizabeth  standing  by  :  the  scene  is  an  open  colonnade. 
A  very  interesting  portrait  of  Margaret,  "Countess  of  Len- 
nox, mother  of  Darnley,  may  be  noticed  near  this  last  pic- 
ture, also  by  Holbein.     This  illustrious  lady  was  united 
to  the  royal    families  of  England  and    Scotland  by  the 
ties   of   a   multiplied   relationship.      I   remembered   the 
inscription  on  her  tomb  in  Westminster  Abbey,  setting 
forth   that   she    had,    to   her   great   grand-father,   King 
Edward  IV. —  to  her  grand-father  Henry  VII.,  to  her 
brother  James  V.  of  Scotland,  to  her  son  King  Henry  I. 
of  Scotland,   to   her   grand-child    King  James   VI.   of 
Scotland,   afterward  James  I.   of  England.     There  is  a 
right  royal  mein  about  the  portrait  of  this  illustrious  lady, 
worthy  of  the  race  whose  blood  coursed  so  richly  through 
her  veins  :  but  the  picture  awakened  more  interest  from 


HAMPTON   COURT.  *        117 

the  fiict,  that  I  was  gazing  upon  the  actual  portrait  of  the 
mother  of  Darnley,  and  thought  I  could  discern  in  the 
sweet  expression  of  the  jcountenance,  the  original  of  that 
effeminate  beauty,  which  in  Darnley  so  captivated  the 
gentle  heart  of  Mary.  In  the  Prince  of  Wales'  Bed 
Room,  there  is  a  full  length  portrait  of  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scotts,  by  Zucchero — a  sweet  melancholy  face,  such  as 
would  haunt  one  in  his  dreams.  She  is  dressed  in  full 
mourning,  her  left  hand  resting  on  a  table,  upon  which  is 
placed  a  breviary,  the  right  holding  a  rosary.  The  date  of 
1580,  inscribed  on  this  picture,  would  make  her  age  about 
thirty-eight  years,  and  it  must  have  been  taken  while  she 
was  a  prisoner  of  Elizabeth.  Miss  Strickland  mentions  this 
picture,  as  among  the  few  extant,  that  give  any  idea  of 
tlie  features  of  the  unfortunate  Stuart.  A  close  examina- 
tion of  the  portrait  will  satisfy  the  observer,  that  in  early 
life  Mary  must  have  been  eminently 'handsome.  "When 
this  was  taken,  suffering  and  persecution,  such  as  few 
women  ever  endured,  had  evidently  dimmed  the  brightness 
of  her  eye,  and  robbed  her  form  of  its  elasticity  and  grace. 
There  is  a  sweetness  of  expression  in  the  large  melancholy 
eyes,  that  rivets  your  attention  at  once.  The  features  are 
faultlessly  regular,  and  there  is  in  the  small  and  exquisitely 
formed  mouth,  an  expression  almost  too  lovely  to  be  human. 
In  King  William  Ill's,  bed-room  are  to  be  found  the 
celebrated  portraits  of  the  Beauties  of  the  Court  of  Charles 
II.,  by  Lely.  With  one  or  two  exceptions  these  portraits 
are  not  remarkable  for  any  great  beauty.  The  Duchesses 
of  Cleaveland  and  of  Portsmouth  look  down  upon  you  from 
canvass,  just  as  you  might  imagine  them  in  life  -^  sensual, 
lustful  —  devilish.  The  face  of  poor  Nell  Gwynne  has  more 
redeeming  points;  there  is  something  in  the  expression  of 
ter  rather  sweet  countenance,  indicating,  that  under  a  more 


118  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

moral  training,  and  different  auspices,  she  might  Lave 
become  an  ornament  to  her  sex  —  her  heart  was  in  the 
right  place,  and  who  can  read  her  sad  story  without  feeling 
that 

«  Her  life 
Was  a  very  rebel  to  her  will." 

The  Queen's  Drawing  Room  is  interesting  to  an  Ame- 
rican from  the  fact,  that  its  walls  are  lined  with  some  of 
the  best  paintings  by  his  countryman,  West.  With  the 
exception  of  six  historical  pieces,  they  are  mostly  portraits 
of  the  family  of  his  patron,  George  III.,  but  those  six 
are  sufficient  to  perpetuate  his  fame.  His  two  celebrated 
pictures,  the  Departure  of  Regulus,  and  the  Death  of 
Wolfe,  rendered  go  familiar  by  engravings,  are  here.  But 
the  finest  picture,  and  conceived  too  in  the  grandest  style  of 
historic  art,  is  the  one  representing  {'  Hamilcar  swearing 
the  infant  Hanibal,  never  to  make  peace  with  Rome."  The 
composition  of  this  piece  is  superb,  and  the  grouping  won- 
derful. The  stern  and  determined  expression  of  Hamilcar, 
as  he  looks  upon  the  boy  whose  defiant  spirit  flashes  from 
his  eyes,  is  most  grandly  concei^d. 

As  a  climax  to.  picture-viewing  at  Hampton  Court,  it 
is  well  to  enter  last  the  Picture  Gallery  erected  by  Sir 
Christopher  Wren,  to  contain  the  celebrated  Cartoons  of 
Raphael,  which  by  themselves  would  form  sufficient  attrac- 
tion to  draw  the  sight-seeing  tourist  to  Hampton  Court. 
These  drawings  were  designed  by  Raphael  about  the  year 
1520,  by  order  of  that  most  munificent  of  Popes,  Leo  X. 
They  were  sent  afterwards  to  the  famous  manufactory  at 
Arras  in  Flanders,  to  be  copied  in  tapestry,  two  sets  of 
which  were  ordered:  one  set  I  had  the  pleasure  afterwards 
of  seeing  at  the  Vatican  in  Rome,  but  so  faded  that  the 


HAMPTON   COURT.  119 

general  effect  of  the  coloring  js  destroyed.  The  other  set, 
after  several  mutations  of  fortune,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
some  princely  German,  who  took  them  with  him  to  his 
native  town,  where  they  now  decorate  his  dining  hall. 
These  Cartoons,  so  called  from  being  painted  on  sheets  of 
paper,  were  bought  in  Flanders  by  the  celebrated  Rubens, 
for  Charles  I.  When  this  King's  fine  collection  was  sold 
and  dispersed,  they  were  purchased  by  Cromwell  for  £300. 
In  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  they  were  for  a  long  time  con- 
signed to  neglect  in  the  lumber  rooms  of  Windsor.  King 
William  III.  found  them  there,  had  them  carefully  cleaned 
and  restored,  and  finally  George  III.  ordered  the  present 
gallery  to  be  erected,  where  they  have  ever  since  remained 
the  admiration  of  artists,  and  of  all  who  claim  any  great 
love  for  art.  These  Cartoons  display  not  only  great  dig- 
nity and  grandeur  of  form,  and  an  intelligent  and  harmo- 
nious arrangement  of  groups,  but  great  depth  and  power. 
of  thought,  and  a  most  surprising  dramatic  development  of 
each  event  they  represent.  Hazlitt  has  well  said  of  them : 
"  Compared  with  the  Cartoons,  all  other  pictures  look  like 
oil  and  varnish;  we  are  stopped  and  attracted  by  the  color- 
ing, the  pencilling,  the  finishing,  the  instrumentalities  of 
art :  but  here  the  artist  seems  to  have  flung  his  mind  upon 
the  canvass.  His  thoughts,  his  great  ideas  alone  prevail : 
there  is  nothing  between  us,  and  the  subject:  we  look 
through  a  frame,  and  see  scripture  histories,  and  are  made 
actual  spectators  in  historical  events." 

The  fine  and  accurate  engravings  we  have  of  these  Car- 
toons, have  rendered  their  merits  known  tcJ  the  civilized 
world.  Never  was  a  greater  eulogy  passed  upon  a  painter's 
skill,  and  unwittingly  too,  than  that  by  Garrick,  when  he 
attempted  by  a  personation  to  improve  upon  the  figure  and 


120  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

position  of  Raphael' s  Ely  mas  the  Sorcerer,  in  the  Cartoon 
of  that  name.  A  select  party,  among  whom  was  our 
American  painter  West,  and  the  renowned  actor  Crarrick, 
visited  by  invitation,  the  Earl  of  Exeter  at  Burleigh  House. 
After  dinner  the  conversation  turned  on  Garrick's  beauti- 
ful villa  at  Hampton,  and  then  naturally  upon  the  neigh- 
boring palace.  As  an  obvious  subject  the  Cartoons  were 
noticed,  when  Garrick  turning  to  West,  said :  "  These 
Cartoons  are  spoken  of  as  the  first  works  of  art  in  the 
world,  yet  I  have  often  passed  through  the  gallery  in  a 
hurried  manner,  without  being  very  forcibly  struck  with 
them.  West  expressed  his  surprise,  and  replied :  "That 
the  superior  excellencies  of  these  pictures  could  only  be 
discovered  and  appreciated  by  study ;  but  that  such  a  man 
as  Garrick  should  not  be  struck  with  them,  was  to  him 
quite  extraordinary."  Mr.  Garrick  asked  what  figure  Mr. 
West  thought  most  calculated  to  arrest  his  attention — 
"  Several,"  was  the  answer,  "  but  Elymas,  the  Sorcerer," 
was  more  particularly  noticed.  "  Ah,"  replied  Garrick, 
"  I  was  struck  with  that  figure,  but  did  not  think  it  quite 
in  character — this  man  was  an  attendant  at  the  Court  of  a 
Roman  governor,  and  could  have  been  no  vulgar  fellow, 
yet  he  stands  with  his  feet  there  in  the  picture  like  a  clown 
— why  did  not  Raphael  make  him  in  his  distress,  extend 
his  arms  like  a  gentleman  seeking  assistance  ?  The  com- 
pany highly  interested  in  the  conversation,  united  in 
requesting  the  favor  of  Mr.  Garrick  to  personate  the  sor- 
cerer, aB  he  would  on  the  stage,  adding  the  compliment, 
that  he  wa9  always  led  by  the  strong  feelings  of  his  mind 
into  such  a  perfect  expression  of  look,  and  propriety  of 
attitude,  suitable  to  the  character  he  represented,  that  the 
theatre  and  the  actor  were  forgotten  in  the  impression  of 


HAMPTON   COURT.  121 

reality  with  which  he  governed  his  audience.  Garrick 
consented,  closed  his  eyes  to  be  in  the  position  of  the  sor- 
cerer, and  by  the  time  he  was  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
appeared  the  exact  counterpart  of  Ihe  figure  in  Raphael's 
Cartoon.  Mr.  West  softly  approached  him,  and  desired 
him  not  to  alter  his  position,  but  suddenly  to  open  his 
eyes.  The  actor  did  so,  and  suddenly  exclaimed  at  once, 
<'Iam  Raphael's  Elymas!  lam  Raphael's  Elymas  !'*  to 
the  great  delight  of  Lord  Exeter  and  his  guests.  I  per- 
ceive, he  added,  in  reply  to  a  banter  of  Mr.  West's,  about 
the  elegance  of  attitude,  ^'  that  a  man  deprived  of  sight 
will  not  present  the  foot  incautiously  to  obstacles,  or  think 
of  a  graceful  extension  of  the  arms :  fingera  and  toes,  will 
like  feelers  of  an  insect  be  advanced  for  discovery  and 
protection."  This  was  certainly  a  high  and  remarkable 
tribute  to  the  accuracy  with  which  the  noblest  painter  the 
world  has  ever  known,  delineated  nature,  and  that  too 
from' the  world's  greatest  actor. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  chambers  at  Hampton  Court, 
is  undoubtedly  the  large  Gothic  Hall,  designed  by  Cardinal 
Wolsey,  and  completed  after  the  great  Churchman's  dis- 
grace by  his  royal  master,  when  Anne  Boleyn  was  in  the 
height  of  her  short-lived  favor.  The  proportions  of  this 
noble  apartment,  are  strikingly  grand,  being  one  hundred 
and  six  feet  in  length,  and  forty  in  breadth.  The  roof  is 
elaborately  carved  and  richly  decorated  with  the  arms 
and  cognizances  of  the  royal  Blue  Beard.  Entering  be- 
neath the  musician's  gallery,  a  blaze  of  light,  gold  and 
glitter  attract  the  eye;  and  yet  according  to  the  promptings 
of  strict  taste,  it  might  be  suggested  that  the  decorations 
are  somewhat  too  showy,  and  the  colors  of  the  banners 
suspended  from  the  ceiling  rather  tawdry  than  otherwise. 

L 


122  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

This  Hall  is  lighted  by  seven  lofty  and  well  proportioned 
windows,  placed  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  floor : 
but  the  noble  old  window  at  the  end,  rich  with  devices  in 
stained  glass,  is  the  finest  of  all.  In  the  centre  is  a  whole 
length  portrait  of  Henry  VIII.  and  the  compartments  on 
each  side  represent  the  arms  and  mottoes  of  his  six  Queens. 
It  was  upon  one  of  the  panes,  that  the  Earl  of  Surrey  is 
said  to  have  inscribed  with  a  diamond,  some  lines  upon 
his  mistress  Geraldine,  which  so  excited  the  jealousy  of 
the  royal  brute,  his  master,  that  it  finally  brought  him  to 
the  scafi'old.  But  Surrey,  like  all  the  poets  of  his  time, 
modelled  his  verse  after  Petrarch,  and  it  was  necessary, 
like  him,  whose  style  he  so  devoutly  and  enthusiastically 
studied,  that  he  should  have  a  lady-love  upon  whose  ima- 
ginary coldness  or  slights  he  might  pour  out  the  whole 
flow  of  his  amorous  versification.  Surrey  owed  his  death 
to  something  more  than  the  crime  of  writing  amorous 
verses  to  the  young  wife  of  Sir  Anthony  Brown.  The 
walls  between  the  windows  are  hung  with  ancient  faded 
tapestry,  representing  the  stories  of  Abraham  and  Tobit. 
This  Hall  has  some  historic  interest;  as  it  is  said  to  have 
been  the  place  where  Shakspeare  performed  on  the  first 
acting  of  his  plays  before  Elizabeth.  Around  the  walls 
are  stag's  heads  carved  in  wood,  with  very  fine  antlers  of 
the  red  deer,  and  the  elk,  above  which  are  banners  dis- 
playing the  arms  and  badges  of  Wolsey,  and  the  different 
offices  he  held  under  the  crown.  Near  the  Great  Hall  is 
the  Withdrawing  Room,  with  a  ceiling  of  surpassing  beauty, 
decorated  with  pendant  ornaments.  The  ceiling  of  the 
Library  at  Abbotsford  is  an  exact  imitation  of  this.  The 
walls  arc  rustling  with  faded  tapestry,  whereon  may  be 
faintly  traced  some  spectral  looking  allegorical  figures. 


HAMPTON    COURT.  123 

Above  the  tapestry  are  seven  fine  Cartoons  painted  by 
Carlo  Cignani,  being  designs  for  the  frescoes  painted  in 
the  Ducal  Palace  of  Parma,  about  the  latter  end  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  But  one  of  the  most  interesting  things 
in  this  fine  chamber,  is  a  profile  of  Wolsey  in  panel  over 
the  fire  place,  placed  there  by  the  Cardinal  himself,  and 
no  doubt  an  excellent  likeness.  It  corresponds  to  the 
engravings  of  Wolsey  of  our  times;  with  which  every  one 
is  so  familiar. 

It  is  delightful  after  wandering  through  the  long  galle- 
ries of  Hampton  Palace,  to  pass  out  from  your  exhausting 
work,  to  refresh  yourself  beneath  the  shady  yew  trees  of 
that  most  charming  Park,  or  inhale  the  air  pregnant  with 
a  thousand  odors,  which  blows  cool  over  the  beautiful 
gardens.  Bushy  Park  is  not  surpassed  in  its  attractions 
by  any  in  England.  Here  is  the  magnificent  avenue,  or 
rather  rows  of  avenues  of  the  horse  chesnut  tree,  extend- 
ing in  length  one  mile  and  forty  yards.  On  either  side 
the  great  avenue  are  four  others,  the  united  breadth  of  the 
whole  being  five  hundred  and  sixty-three  feet,  and  the 
quantity  of  ground  covered  sixty-seven  acres.  In  the  pri- 
vate garden  they  show  the  curious  visitor  the  Great  Vine, 
said  to  be  the  largest  in  the  world.  In  fruitful  seasons  it 
is  cumbered  with  from  two  to  three  thousand  bunches  of 
grapes,  of  the  Black  Hamburg  sort,  weighing  on  the  ave. 
Irage  a  pound  each.  The  stem  of  this  giant  vine,  in  itself 
a  vineyard,  is  thirty  inches  in  circumference  at  the  great- 
est girth,  one  hundred  and  ten  feet  long,  and  encloses  a 
space  of  two  thousand  two  hundred  feet  square.  The 
largest  oak  tree  in  England  is  to  be  seen  near  the  old 
stables  in  Hampton  Court  Park  — it  is  thirty-three  feet 
round,  and  consequently  with  a  diameter  of  eleven  feet. 


124  FOREIGN  ETCHINOS. 

From  the  terrace  parallel  to  the  Thames,  there  is  a 
most  delightful  prospect  of  the  river;  and  the  yerdant 
meads  on  the  opposite  side.  One  could  almost  fancy,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  water  views,  that  the  Belinda  of  Pope, 
was  again  seated  beneath  the  rich  awning  of  her  gilded 
barge  in  conscious  beauty : 

"  The  sumbeams  trembling  on  the  floating  tides  ; 

While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky, 
And  softened  sounds  along  the  waters  die; 
Smooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently  play 
Belinda  smiled,  and  all  the  world  was  gay." 

An  entire  day,  was  profitably  employed  in  wandering 
about  Hampton  Court,  and  its  beautiful  grounds;  for 
although  we  had  taken  an  early  start,  the  myriad  gas-lights 
were  flashing  along  Regent  Street,  as  we  drove  rapidly 
from  the  railway  station,  to  our  lodgings  in  Hanover 
Sq^uare. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PARIS.— AN  ENTRANCE  AND  AN  EXIT. 

Crossing  the  Channel  —  Paris  —  The  Tuileries  and  its  associa- 
tions—The Louvre  — Place  de  la  Concorde  —  The  Churches 
of  the  Madeleine,  St.  Roch,  and  St.  Denis. 

Those  wlio  have  been  unfortunate  enough  to  cross  the 
Channel  from  Folkestone  to  Boulogne,  in  a  storm,  will 
know  how  to  appreciate  the  intense  disgust  which  clings 
to  the  mere  retrospect  of  that  transit.  In  those  small 
steamers,  during  the  drivings  of  such  a  pitiless  storm  as 
we  .encountered,  passengers  wore  speedily  driven  from  the 
upper  deck,  to  the  small  cabins  below :  and  there  with  an 
economy  of  space  worthy  of  a  Slaver,  things  and  persons 
speedily  underwent  "a  sea  change/^  I  cannot  conceive 
that  Dante  in  all  his  fourteen  embassies  from  the  Floren- 
tine States,  ever  went  on  a  sea  voyage,  or  ever  crossed  the 
English  Channel ;  or  he  would  most  certainly  have  embodied 
in  his  Purgatotio,  or  Inferno,  a  most  horrifying  episode  on 
sea-sickness,  which  the  lapse  of  centuries  since  he  wrote, 
involving  the  noblest  discoveries  in  chemical  and  medical 
science,  has  not  availed  to  banish  from  the  list  of  those 
ills,  "that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  on  the  sea.  Landing  at 
Boulogne  after  nightfall,  in  a  drenching  rain,  with  but  the 
sickly  gleam  of  a  few  gas  lamps,  making  "darkness  visible" 
on  the  Quay — was  certainly  not  calculated  to  put  one  in 
the  best  of  humors.  But  after  passing  the  rather  rigid 
scrutiny  of  French  Custom  House  officials,  we  found 
in  the  neatness  and  comfort  of  a  French  Hotel  some 
solace  for  all  our  vexations.    A  most  unexceptionable 


126  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

supper,  and  a  night's  repose  upon  couches,  whose  luxuri- 
ousness  would  have  satisfied  the  most  discontented  Syba- 
rite— restored  our  tempers  to  their  natural  equilibrium ; 
and  our  first  morning  on  the  soil  of  France,  found  us  in 
the  best  of  humors.  There  is  nothing  in  Boulogne  that 
would  induce  the  traveler  to  linger,  and  we  left  it  at  noon 
of  the  next  day  for  Paris.  After  a  somewhat  tedious  and 
monotonous  ride,  through  a  flat  and  uninteresting  country, 
just  as  the  shades  of  evening  were  settling  down  upon  the 
landscape,  we  caught  sight  of  the  heights  around  Paris; 
surmounted  by  those  curious  looking  wind  mills.  Here 
was  the  position  on  those  eventful  last  days  of  March, 
when  in  the  absence  of  Napoleon,  Joseph  Bonaparte, 
and  Marshals  Marmont  and  Martre,  vainly  endeavored  to 
repel  the  allies  and  save  Paris.  Those  heights  have  their 
stirring  tales  to  tell,  bow  fields  were  lost  and  won.  How 
the  black  huzzars  of  Brandenburg  annihilated  whole  squad- 
rons of  Imperial  Cuirassiers — the  finest  cavalry  of  Europe : 
and  how^  the  bearded  Cossacks  of  the  Don,  charged  batte- 
ries, entrenchments,  redoubts  and  regiments,  until  one 
hundred  pieces  of  cannon  were  silenced,  and  four  thousand 
French,  as  gallant  fellows  as  ever  drew  trigger,  lay  dead 
along  the  lines — leaving  Marmont  to  make  the  best  terms 
he  could  for  the  astonished  Eagle  of  the  Empire. 

Lights  were  flashing  along  the  Boulevards,  and  gay 
throngs  were  rapidly  filling  both  sides  of  that  magnificent 
thoroughfare  as  we  drove  rapidly  through  it.  Turning 
down  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  we  rattled  over  the  Place  Ven- 
ddme,  catching  a  passing  view  of  that  dark  shaft  which 
still  commemorates  after  the  manner  of  Trajan's  Column 
at  Rome,  the  glorious  deeds  of  the  "  Man  of  Destiny," 
whose  statue  still  looks  down,  upon  the  city  he  loved  so 


PARIS,  127 

well.  The  next  morning  from  the  baleony  of  the  Hotel 
Meurice^  we  took  a  first  view  of  Paris  by  dayh"ght.  From 
this  elevation  the  eye  commanded  the  finest  portion  of  the 
Rue  de  Eivoli;.  now  fast  becoming,  under  the  sagacious 
policy  of  the  present  Emperor,  one  of  the  finest  streets  in 
this  beautiful  capital.  It  was  Sunday ;  but  the  gay  city 
knows  no  rest.  The  street  is  alive  with  all  the  stir  and 
excitement  of  Parisian  life.  Yonder  rattles  an  omnibus 
with  its  merry  crowd  upon  the  top;  right  behind  it  a 
heavily  laden  sand  cart  drags  slowly  along — on  the  oppo- 
site side,  arm  in  arm,  singing  merrily,  go  some  workmen 
in  blue  shirts — these  are  blouse-men,  those  terrible  fellows, 
whenever  the  tocsin  of  Revolution  is  sounded.  And  listen, 
the  stirring  roll  of  the  diiim  is  heard,  and  here  comes  a 
detachment  of  the  recently  created  Imperial  Guard,  with 
their  high  and  ungainly  looking  caps.  These  are  all 
picked  men  of  regiments,  chosen  by  their  Imperial  Master 
on  account  of  long  service,  proficiency,  or  marked  bravery. 
The  Garden  of  the  Tuileries  is  directly  over  the  way,  with 
its  pleasant  walks  and  graceful  fountains.  In  orderly  rows 
under  the  trees  stand  the  long  line  of  chairs  and  stools,  to 
"be  brought  forth  in  the  course  of  the  day,  for  the  thou- 
sand loungers,  young  and  old,  who  through  the  long  sum- 
■  mer  afternoons  crowd  this  favorite  place  of  resort.  And 
there  is  the  dark  and  sombre  mass  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Tuileries.  It  dates  back  for  its  origin  to  that  bold  bad 
woman,  Catharine  de  Medicis,  and  only  failed  of  comple- 
tion under  her  auspices,  by  the  superstitious  fears  awakened 
by  an  astrological  prediction.  It  slowly  advanced  towards 
completion  under  the  munificence  of  Henry  IV.  and  Louis 
XIII.,  and  first  became  a  royal  residence,  when  the  gay 
and  gallant  Court  of  Louis  XIV.  filled  its  spacious  Halls, 


128  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

and  magnificent  saloons  with  all  the  fashion  and  folly  of 
France.  This  old  pile  could  tell  many  a  fearful  tale.  It 
witnessed  the  scenes  of  the  dreadful  20th  of  June,  1792,, 
when  that  terrible  crowd  of  thirty  thousand,  composed  of 
all  the  vile  cut  throats  and  abandoned  women  of  the  metro- 
polis, defiled  before  Louis  XVI.  as-he  reclined  in  one  of 
the  embrasures  of  those  windows,  surrounded  by  a  few 
faithful  National  Guards.  They  carried  a  bleeding  heart, 
torn  from  some  aristocrat's  breast,  upon  a  pike.  The 
Amazons  shook  above  their  heads  olive  branches  ajid  spears, 
dancing  wildly,  and  singing  that  dreadful  revolutionary 
song,  "  Ca  IraJ^  In  those  very  gardens,  right  before  us,. 
an  eye  witness  of  the  outrage  stood  the  youthful  Napoleon, 
"all  unknown  to  fame,"  and  expressing  his  furious  indig- 
nation, at  the  license  permitted  to  the  mob.  But  when 
the  poor  frightened  King  put  on  the  "Cap  of  Liberty,'* 
he  could  not  restrain  his  indignation,  and  uttered  that 
memorable  expression;  "they  should  cut  down  five  huu- 
dregl  of  these  wretches  with  grape  shot,  and  'the  rest  would 
speedily  take  to  flight."  If  the  poor  King  had  only  known 
the  will  and  energy  of  that  strange  Corsican  youth,  then 
standing  in  the  gardens  of  his  Palace,  he  might  have  saved 
his  throne  and  life.  But  it  was  not  so  to  be.  France 
must  be  scourged  for  her  cryiog  sins,  and  the  hour  of 
vengeance  had  struck.  It  was  here  too,  in  this  very 
Palace,  that  one  of  the  noblest  instances  of  heroic  devotion, 
was  exhibited  by  the  unshaken  fortitude,  with  which  the 
Swiss  Guard,  amid  the  defection  that  was  around  them, 
stood  by  the  throne  they  had  sworn  to  defend.  They  were 
mowed  down  by  the  storm  of  grape  shot,  and  fell  in  the 
place  where  they  stood,  unconquered  even  in  death.  Well 
has  the  historian  Alison  said  of  their  devotion^  "  that  in. 


PARIS.  129 

this  last  extremity  it  was  neither  in  its  titled  nobility,  nor 
its  native  armies  that  the  French  throne  found  fidelity,  but 
in  the  free-born  mountaineers  of  Lucerne,  unstained  by  the 
vices  of  a  corrupt  age,  and  firm  in  the  simplicity  of  a  rural 
life."  Outside  the  walls  of  Lucerne,  hewn  out  of  the 
solid  rock  by  the  chisel  of  Thorwalsden,  the  representation 
of  a  dying  Lion,  wounded  by  an  arrow,  and  seeming  in  the 
agonies  of  death  to  protect  the  Bourbon  fleur-de-lis,  com- 
memorates the  valor  and  faithfulness  of  those  noble  Swiss. 
A  very  few  hours'  association  with  the  gay  and  frivo- 
lous crowds  of  the  French  capital,  make  you  feel  and 
appreciate  the  wide  difi'erence  there  is,  between  it  and 
London,  Coming  from  London  direct  to  Paris,  is  like 
passing  into  a  new  state  of  existence — or,  as  if  an  inhabi- 
tant of  our  dull  earth,  should  be  transported  suddenly  to 
some  far  off  planet,  where  all  is  continued  sunshine,  and 
life,  with  an  endless  pursuit  after  pleasure.  Edouard  Gour- 
don,  in  his  ^'  Bois  de  Boulogne,^'  sums  up  the  principal 
characteristics  of  the  gay  Capital  of  the  Franks,  thus  : 
^Hhe  physiognomy  of  Paris,  is  as  changeable,  as  that  of  a 
beautiful  female.  To  live  in  Paris  is  a  perpetual  travel, 
because  the  entii-e  world  is  in  Paris.  It  is  as  if  one  had 
his  eyes  fixed  perpetually  upon  a  kaleidoscope,  ever  in 
motion — a  panorama  every  hour.  Not  only  do  the  days 
here  not  resemble  one  another ;  but  each  moment  differs 
from  that  which  has  preceded  it."  This,  making  allow- 
ance for  the  inflated  style  which  belongs  to  modern 
French  literature,  is  a  very  fair  picture  of  Parisian  life 
and  its  mutations.  The  Frenchman  is  your  true  epicurean, 
who  lives  for  the  present,  and  knows  no  future ;  or  if  he 
does^  cares  not  for  it.  But  while  a  passion  for  enjoyment, 
a  contempt  for  life  without  pleasure,  a  want  of  religion 


130  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

and  morality,  fill  the  gaming  houses,  La  Morgue,  and  the 
Hospice  des  Enfants  Trouves — far  be  it  from  me  to  say, 
that  there  does  not  exist  with  it  all,  a  refined  taste  for  lite- 
rature, and  the  fine  arts ;  or  else  how  are  we  to  account  for 
the  Public  Galleries,  Libraries,  and  the  Halls  of  their 
numerous  Literary  Societies  ?  But  it  is  only  in  the  front 
rank  of  society,  you  find  those  who  rejoice  in  these  more 
refined  and  exalted  pleasures — the  great  mass  certainly 
seem  to  be  loungers  in  search  of  pleasure, — time-killers 
whose  theatre  of  glory  is  the  Boulevards,  the  Champs 
Elysees,  the  Jardin  Mabille,  the  Chateau  des  Fleurs,  or 
the  Theatres.  In  the  streets,  the  walks,  the  theatres,  the 
public  gardens,  this  class  may  everywhere  be  seen — saun- 
tering on  the  Boulevards — laughing  loud  at  the  Varietes, 
and  spreading  everywhere  its  own  easy  and  unceremonious 
air. 

But  dropping  the  didactic  style,  let  me  attempt  to  give 
a  description  of  this  remarkable  city^  whose  enchantments 
would  serve  to  set  the  spirit  of  Haroun  al  Raschid  on  fire. 
Come  with  me  to  the  Louvre  this  fine  morning.  Passing 
out  from  the  H6tel  Meurice,  you  find  yourself  in  the  Rue 
de  Rivoli.  What  a  noble  street  it  is,  with  the  magnificent 
Place  de  I'PIotel  de  Ville,  at  one  extremity,  and  the  spacious 
Place  de  la  Concorde  at  the  other.  Under  the  judicious 
management  of  Louis  Napoleon,  this  street  has  been  very 
much  enlarged  and  beautified,  and  when  completed,  will 
hardly  have  its  superior  in  any  city  of  the  world.  A  short 
walk,  along  the  lofty  iron  railing  of  the  Gardens  of  the 
Tuilcries,  and  by  one  extremity  of  the  Palace  brings  you 
to  the  entrance  to  the  Place  du  Carrousel.  Passing  into 
the  Place  du  Carrousel,  your  attention  is  arrested  by  the 
fine  proportions  of  the  triumphal  Arch  erected  by  Napo- 


PARIS.  131 

leon  I.  in  front  of  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries.  It  is  in 
imitation  of  the  Arch  of  Septimus  Severus,  near  the  head 
of  the  Forum  at  Rome;  and  with  its  bronze  eagles,  horses, 
and  magnificent  car  of  victory  on  its  summit,  is  in  every 
way  worthy  of  the  great  Captain/ whose  victories  it  com- 
memorates. A  few  steps  farther  on^  and  we  are  at  the 
entrance  of  the  Louvre,  next  to  the  Vatican,  the  noblest 
depository  of  art  in  the  world.  Entering  the  Musee  des 
Antiques,  the  rich  associations  awakened  by  the  statues 
in  this  Hall,  derive  augmented  charms  from  the  surround- 
ing architectural  grandeur.  Full  range  and  scope  are 
afforded  in  the  Louvre,  for  a  survey  of  the  glorit)us  con- 
ceptions of  the  sculptures  genius  deposited  here.  There 
is  no  stowing  away  of  deities  on  shelves,  nor  are  demigods 
and  heroes,  whose  immortality  has  been  secured  to  them 
in  the  marble  of  Paros,  thrust  into  corners  and  dark  pas- 
sages, like  impounded  objects  of  foreign  manufactare  in 
the  Custom  House.  It  is  certainly  a  great  privilege  to 
behold  these  superb  impersonations  of  fabled  divinity,  in 
such  a  theatre  as  the  Saloons  of  the  Louvre,  where  arch 
and  column,  frieze  and  cornice,  wrought  after  the  patterns 
of  the  purest  originals  of  antiquity,  or  the  very  originals 
themselves,  combine  so  happily  to  sustain  the  dignity  and 
majesty  of  sculpture.  The  French  painters  too,  have  great 
advantages  as  cultivators  of  art,  in  the  spaciousness  of 
the  Galleries  of  the  Louvre — the  ante-room  of  which 
admits  of  several  pictures  of  the  dimensions  of  thirty  feet 
by  twenty.  One  can  onl/get  a  general  idea  by  description 
of  the  vast  collection  of  pictures,  ancient  and  modern,  in 
these  galleries.  There  was  one  room  in  the  Louvre,  where 
I  often  loved  to  linger,  containing  two  large  paintings  by 
Baron  Gros,  representing  events  in  the  life  of  Napoleon. 


132  FOREIGN' ETCHINGS. 

One  of  these  pictures  is  a  spirited  representation  of  the 
Battle  of  Eyhiu,  or  rather  Napoleon  visiting  the  field 
after  the  battle,  and  conferring  the  decorations  upon 
the  wounded  and  dying.  This  painting  has  been  made 
familiar  to  us  in  America  by  numerous  engravings,  which 
are  strikingly  accurate.  Nothing  can  be  finer,  than  a 
painting,  representing  Napoleon  in  the  midst  of  those 
stricken  with  the  plague,  in  the  Hospital  in  Egypt.  Look 
at  those  horrid  wretches  crouching  in  the  foreground 
of  the  picture ;  how  terrible  their  countenances !  where, 
upon  every  feature  the  frightful  disease  has  set  its  dread 
seal — how  emaciated  their  forms^  and  what  despair  in 
their  looks  !  as  they  gaze  with  stupid  expression,  upon 
their  fearless  young  commander,  who  has  braved  all  the 
dangers  of  contagion,  and  now  stands  in  the  very  midst  of 
the  plague  stricken.  *'  The  Man  of  Destiny,"  is  putting 
his  naked  hand,  from  which  he  has  just  removed  his 
military  glove,  upon  the  bare  flesh  of  one  of  the  victims 
to  the  loathsome  disease.  An  aid,  just  behind  the  General, 
is  applying  his  handkerchief  to  his  nose,  evidently  dread- 
ing the  influence  of  the  contagion;  while  another  is 
attempting  to  arrest  the  arm  of  his  commander,  startled 
at  the  presumption,  which  not  satisfied  with  being  in  the 
midst  of  contagion,  seems  to  court  the  disease  by  actual 
contact  with  it,  in  its  most  terrible  form.  The  countenance 
of  Bonaparte  is  remarkably  fine,  clouded  by  an  expression 
of  sadness,  evoked  by  the  dreadful  scene  of  suffering  around 
him,  and  yet  calm  and  assured,  without  a  trace  of  fear  or 
apprehension.  There  is  one  remarkably  fine  face  in  the 
group  :  that  of  a  young  officer  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  upon 
whose  handsome  features  the  shadows  of  death  are  rapidly 
advancing.     His  dimmed  eyes  are  turned  towards  his  com- 


mander,  as  if  seeking  recognition,  and  tne  excitement  of  tlio 
occasion,  seems  to  light  up  for  the  instant  his  pale  and  wasted 
features.  There  is  another  fine  painting  in  this  room  which 
the  narrative  of  Savigny  has  made  memorable.  It  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  wreck  of  the  Medusa  Frigate,  in  the  year 
1816.  Of  nearly  two  hundred  persons  who  attempted  to 
reach  Senegal  on  a  raft,  only  nine  survived.  The  sufferings 
on  the  raft  must  indeed  have  been  dreadful;  and  here  in 
this  picture,  those  horrors  are  attempted  to  be  represented. 
The  living  are  eating  the  dead ;  and  every  atrocity  aggra- 
vated by  despair  rages  in  hideous  tumult,  in  the  midst  of 
the  wretched  group,  afloat  on  that  frail  raft.  There  are 
several  of  Darvid's  historical  pictures  here  in  the  Louvre ; 
but  they  never  excited  my  admiration.  As  Ileade  well 
remarks  in  his  Italy  and  Naples — "In  David's  pictures 
there  is  such  a  meeting  of  long  arms,  and  longer  legs,  as 
if  they  had  flown  together  from  all  quarters  of  the  heavens, 
and  met  together  by  accident.  Leonidas  is  preparing  for 
a  pirouette ;  the  Horatii  are  measuring  the  length  of 
their  arms  and  legs." 

In  the  Salon  Carre,  which  immediately  precedes  the 
Long  Gallery,  may  be  noticed  the  celebrated  Conception 
by  Murillo,  bought  three  or  four  years  ago  by  Louis  ^ 
Napoleon,  from  Marshal  Soult's  gallery,  for  over  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars.  It  is  a  glorious  conception  of  this 
great  painter— a  perfect  miracle  of  female  loveliness,  with 
an  expression  truly  divine.  In  the  Long  Gallery  are  col- 
lected, an  immense  number  of  paintings  of  the  Italian, 
Flemish,  and  French  Schools ;  and  when  it  is  mentioned 
that  this  gallery  is  over  thirteen  hundred  feet  long,  and 
nearly  fifty  feet  in  breadth,  with  both  sides  covered  with 
paintings,  some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  extent  aad 
M 


134  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS.' 

variety  of  the  collection.  But  perhaps  among  all  the 
numerous  Halls  of  Statuary,  Paintings,  and  memorials  of 
distinguished  Sovereigns — none  possess  more  interest  than 
the  "Salle  de  TEmpereur,"  displaying  on  its  frescoed  ceil- 
ing, the  name  of  Napoleon,  and  numerous  emblems 
expressive  of  glory,  the  progress  of  the  arts  and  sciences 
under  his  reign.  Here  are  preserved  the  memorials  of 
the  great  Captain ;  his  uniform  coat  worn  at  the  battle  of 
Marengo,  the  sword  he  carried  when  First  Consul — the 
dresses  worn  on  state  occasions,  and  the  pocket  handker- 
chief used  by  him  on  his  death  bed. 

The  Egyptian  Saloon  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  in 
the  world;  and  next  to  the  collection  at  Berlin,  the  largest. 
Here  may  be  seen  articles,  that  were  in  all  probability,  in 
use  in  the  days  of  Deborah,  and  Barak,  of  Necho,  and  Ne- 
buchadnezzar. I  noticed  particularly  a  funeral  crown 
made  with  rushes,  as  perfect  as  the  first  day  it  was  first 
constructed  by  the  mourner,  who  some  three  thousand  years 
ago  attended  the  burial  of  an  Egyptian  brother.  In  another 
compartment,  may  be  noticed  a  letter  from  Appolonius  to 
Ptolemy.  Not  far  from  this,  near  a  window,  the  perfect 
plaster  cast,  taken  either  from  the  face  of  a  dead  or  living 
Egyptian,  who  trod  the  streets  of  Thebes,  when  Moses  was 
on  earth.  But  this  hurried  description  must  suffice  for 
the  Louvre.  Preposterous  as  it  may  appear,  it  is  a  positive 
relief  to  the  stimulated  senses,  to  quit  exhibitions,  of  such 
an  overwhelming  extent.  It  is  what  Thompson  in  allu- 
sion to  living  beauty,  calls  ^^  a  soul-distracting  view  ',"  or 
the  influence  is  perhaps  more  powerfully  described  by 
Byron  in  Childc  Harold,  when  he  speaks  of  the  heart, 
being  dazzled  and  drunk  with  beauty,  until  it  reels  with  its 
own  fulness. 


PARIS.  135 

Leaving  the  Louvre,  let  us  pass  out  of  the  Place  du 
Carrousel  again  into  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  and  retracing  our 
steps  by  the  ^uileries  Gardens,  with  the  spacious  Hotel 
des  Finances,  and  de  la  Marine,  on  the  opposite  side,  we 
soon  find  ourselves  standing  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde — 
an  immense  open  space  between  the  gardens  of  the  Tuile- 
ries,  and  the  Champs  ifelysees.  This  Square  is  surrounded 
by  allegorical  figures  of  the  chief  provincial  cities  of 
France ;  and  in  its  centre  rises  the  Obelisk,  that  the  great 
Sesostris  erected  in  front  of  the  magnificent  Temple  of 
Thebes.  On  each  side,  throwing  their  sparkling  spray 
high  in  the  air,  are  those  magnificent  fountains,  that  are 
not  surpassed  in  beauty,  and  the  appropriateness  of  their 
allegorical  sculpture  by  any  fountains  in  the  world.  The 
taste  that  designed,  laid  out,  and  ornamented  this  noble 
Place,^  was  certainly  faultless.  No  other  city  in  Europe 
can  boast  of  any  square,  that  will  compare  with  it  in  point 
of  beauty.  Looking  along  through  the  wide  vista  between 
the  trees  in  the  Tuileries  Gardens,  you  see  the  dark  line 
of  the  Palace  :  behind  you  the  magnificent  Avenue  of  the 
Champs  l^lysees,  stretches  in  an  unbroken  line  to  the 
noble  Arc  de  Triomphe.  On  your  right  hand  facing  the 
Tuileries,  over  the  Bridge  across  the  Seine,  you  have  those 
graceful  structures  the  Palace  of  the  Legislative  Body,  and 
that  of  its  President :  on  your  left,  looking  down  the  Rue 
Royale,  is  presented  a  fine  view  of  that  graceful  edifice  La 
Madeleine.  Thus,  no  matter  how  you  turn  in  this  beau- 
tiful Square,  the  eye  is  gratified,  and  rests  with  compla- 
cency everywhere.  And  then  too,  it  is  an  interesting  spot 
on  account  of  the  historic  memories  that  cling  to  it,  all 
gloomy  though  tjiey  be.  Who,  as  he  stands  by  that  Obe- 
lisk in  the  centre,  has  not  in  imagination  rolled  back  the 


136  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

tide  of  time,  and  filled  the  square  around  him  with  the 
blood-thirsty,  noisy  and  clamorous  crowds,  that  here  so 
often  witnessed  with  exultation,  the  rapid  descent  of  the 
guillotine  axe,  during  the  reign  of  Terror?  And  who 
does  not  conjure  up  that  saddest  scene  of  all,  as  he  looks 
upon  the  spot,  where  Louis  XVI.  and  his  amiable  consort 
met  the  same  fate,  that  had  swept  off  so  many  of  their  sub- 
jects? Who  can  help  thinking  of  that  desperate  struggle 
at  the  foot  of  the  scaffold,  when  the  poor  King  fought  so 
fiercely  with  the  executioner's  fiend-like  assistants,  as 
they  strove  rudely  to  cut  off  the  hair  from  his  head,  to 
prepare  him  the  better  for  his  fate.  And  then,  that 
ghastly  head,  waving  in  the  air,  amid  the  shouts  of  the 
brutal  wretches,  sprinkling  the  royal  blood  over  his 
faithful  confessor,  who  was  still  on  his  knees,  beside  the 
lifeless  body  of  his  sovereign. 

The  Church  of  the  Madeleine,  which  is  located  in  the 
Place  dc  la  Madeleine,  is  but  a  short  distance  from  the 
.Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  you  reach  it  by  the  Rue  Royale, 
one  of  the  streets  leading  out  of  the  Place.  This  Church, 
architecturally  speaking,  is  one  of  the  finest  buildings  in 
Paris.  Its  interior  has  a  brilliancy,  which  is  certainly 
foreign  to  the  object  to  which  it  is  devoted.  All  that 
gilding  and  painting  could  accomplish,  have  been  lavished 
on  the  interior  adornments  of  this  Temple.  In  a  cupola 
over  the  Grand  Altar,  is  a  vast  fresco  painting  by  Zeiglcr, 
intended  to  represent  the  light  of  Christianity,  dispelling 
the  darkness  of  ages.  It  is  allegorical  enough  for  the 
most  imaginative  German  fancy,  and  introduces  Napoleon 
in  the  foreground  in  his  Imperial  robes,  close  to  old  Pius 
VII.  among  a  throng  of  cmblematicals  of  the  other  sex. 
"Misery,"  says  Trinculo,  "acquaints  a  man  with  strange 


PARIS.  137 

bed-fellows" — and  allegory  it  appears  may  deposit  at  will  a 
sinful  son  of  Adam  among  the  serenities  of  Heaven — not- 
withstanding he  deposed  the  best  of  Popes,  and  divorced 
the  best  of  wives.  This  Church  is  one  of  the  fashionable 
religious  lounges  of  Paris.  On  the  spot  now  covered  by 
this  edifice,  was  buried  Louis  XVI.  immediately  after  his 
execution.  Napoleon  commenced  here  the  Temple  of  Glory 
after  the  battle  of  Jena,  professedly  as  a  memorial  of  the 
Grand  Army,  but  with  a  secret  design  of  converting  it  into 
a  monument  to  the  victims  of  the  Revolution. 

The  Church  of  San  Roch,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  is 
one  of  the  most  interesting  Churches  in  Paris.  It  has  been 
finished  about  a  century,  and  is  one  of  the  fashionable 
churches.  The  pulpit  is  very  imposing,  being  quite  appro- 
priately supported  by  colossal  figures  representing  the  four 
Evangelists.  The  paintings  behind  and  beside  the  choir, 
are  well  worthy  the  inspection  of  any  lover  of  the  fine  arts.' 
They  are  perhaps,  among  the  finest  in  the  world :  but  the 
entombment,  representing  the  devout  assistants  carrying 
the  body  of  our  Lord  into  the  new  tomb,  is  the  chief 
attraction  of  the  interior.  It  is  a  complete  piece  of  drama- 
tic scenery.  The  rock,  the  cave  or  inner  chamber,  the 
human  forms  so  finely  brought  out  by  the  gloom  beyond, 
produce  an  effect  which  borders  on  the  sublime.  Rut  St. 
Roch  has  associations  of  an  historic  interest.  Here  was 
achieved  a  conquest  which  affected  the  destinies  of  Europe, 
when  the  Convention  came  into  collision  with  the  people 
and  the  National  Guards,  upon  the  subject  of  popular 
representation.  The  Convention  had  under  their  control  five 
thousand  regular  troops — the  artillerymen  of  Paris — and  a 
body  of  volunteers  composed  of  blackguards  and  cut-throats, 
the  remnant  of  Robespierre's  myrmidons.  The  Convention 
M.2. 


138"  FOREIGN   ETGHINGS. 

appointed  Menou  to  the  command  of  this-  force,  ordering 
him  to  enter  the  several  sections,  and  disarm  the  National 
Guard.  Menou  had  not  the  nerve;  he  failed,  and  the 
Convention  deposed  him.  Barras  was  ordered  to  assume 
the  command  ;  but  Barras  was  no  soldier,  and.he  turned  to 
his  colleagues,  and  said,  "  I  can  name  the  individual  who 
will  serve  this  turn — a  dapper  young  officer  from  Corsica, 
who  knows  his  duty  as  a  military  man  too  well  to  compro- 
mise the  government  by  any  squeamish  scruples."  It 
was  the  young  Bonaparte  he  alluded  to — who  was  invited 
to  take  command.  He  accepted,  and  at.  once  perceived 
that  his  responsibility  lay  in  defending  the  whole  circuit 
of  the  Tuileries,  and  retaining  possession  of  all  the  bridges, 
to  prevent  any  junction  between  the  armed  bands  of  the 
sections  on  one  side  of  the  Seine,  with  those  on  the  other. 
To  bring  about  this  junction,  thirty  thousand  of  the  Na- 
tional Guard  marched  upon  the  Tuileries  from  all  quarters, 
part  from  one  side  of  the  Seine,  part  from  the  other.  But 
they  were  baffled  at  every  point  by  the  regular  troops 
placed  by  Bonaparte,  for  the  protection  of  the  Avenues 
leading  to  the  Palace.  The  first  shot  was  fired  at  the  top 
of  the  street.  Rue  Dauphin,  facing  the  Church  of  St.  Roch. 
About  two  hundred  of  the  National  Guard  were  drawn  up 
on  the  steps,  leading  from  the  pavement  to  the  door  of  this 
Church.  One  single  discharge  brought  on  a  general  con- 
flict. The  National  Guard  -had  not  a  single  piece  of 
artillery.  Bonaparte  nearly  two  hundred  pieces.  The 
sequel  is  well  known.  In  less  than  an  hour  the  assailants 
were  overwhelmed  in  all  directions.  This  led  to  the  ap- 
pointment of  the  hitherto  obscure  and  poverty  stricken 
young  Corsican  to  the  chief  command,  and  was  his  first  step 
towards  greatness.     The  marks  of  the  grape  and  cannister, 


PARIS.  139 

discharged  on  tliat  eventful  morning,  may  still  be  seen  on 
tbo  front  of  this  Church.  While  speaking  of  the  churches 
of  Paris,,  let  no  one  forget  to  visit  that  mcraorablfe  old' 
Church  outside  the  walls,  the  world-renowned  Church  of 
St.  Denis.  It  was  in  the  vaults  of  this  Church,  the  royalty 
of  France  found  a  resting  place,  until  their  bones  were 
disturbed  by  the  Vandals  of  the  Revolution.  Paris  has 
nothing  to  display  in  comparison  with  the  adornments  of 
this  small,  but  marvellous  temple.  It  is  some  six  miles 
outside  the  walls  of  Paris,  and  was  founded  by  Pepin, 
but  finished  and  consecrated  by  his  more  illustrious  son, 
Charlemagne.  There  are  as  it  were  two  Churches-  here, 
one  level  with  the  ground,  and  one  beneath  it,,  the  latter 
being  as  ancient  as  Dagobert  and  Charlemagne — the  for- 
mer having  been  raised  over  the  first  structure  by  Louis 
IX.  The  stained  glass  of  the  windows  of  this  old  Church, 
is  among  the  finest  in  Europe.  •  Its  effulgence  tinges  the 
sunbeam  with  every  imaginable  variety  of  color,  and 
fills  the  holy  place  with  radiance.  As  the  bright  luminary 
that  rules  the  day,  runs  his  course,  the  groined  roof  and 
clustered  columns  of  the  ancient  pile  glow  in  amber, 
violet,  emerald  and  ruby  hues— followed  by  a  rich  combi- 
nation of  silver,  crimson,  and  azure  tints,  the  beaming 
lustre  of  which  darts  from  aisle  to  nave,  from  nave  to  tran- 
sept, glows  around  the  altar,  and  like  a  mystic  halo  from 
on.  high,  resting  within  the  choir, 

"  Fills  the  air  around  with  beauty." 

The  fact  of  this  stained  glass  being  the  work  of  modern 
times,  hardly  thirty  years  old,  refutes  the  common  asser- 
tion, that  this  beautiful  art  is  comparatively  lost.  The 
skill  whose  cunning  fingers  wrought  these  splendid  adorn- 


140  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

ments,  rniglit  compass  designs  of  any  magnitude,  either  in 
the  illumination  of  tracery,  or  the  complicated  groupings 
of  History,  without  receding  from  the  point  of  excellence 
attained  by  the  most  renowned  masters.  Indeed  it  may 
well  be  questioned,  whether  the  annealing  of  glass  in  the 
age  of  Albert  Durer,  was  comparable  to  those  processes  in 
modern  chemistry,  of  which  the  latest  glass-stainers  have 
been  enabled  to  avail  themselves. 

The  Oriflamme,  or  sacred  banner  of  Clovis,  is  suspended 
from  an  eminence  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  this  venerg- 
ble  edifice,  behind  the  High  Altar.  It  is  of  a  deep  scarlet 
color,  and  tradition  assigns  the  ago  of  fhirteen  hundred 
and  seventy  years  to  this  old  silken  remnant  of  monastic 
superstition  and  imposition.  The  monks  of  the  old  Abbey 
Church  were  in  the  habit  of  assuring  the  people  that  this 
banner  was  brought  to  the  Abbey  by  an  angel,  about  the 
period  of  the  conversion  to  Christianity  of  old  King  Clovis. 
It  was  called  Oriflamme  from  the'representation  of  flames 
worked  in  golden  threads  upon  the  silk.  The  chapels 
above  are  shrines  profusely  adorned  with  embellishments 
of  art,  and  glittering  with  wealth  and  magnificence.  But 
beneath  their  stone  pavements  are  the  tombs  of  three 
dynasties  of  kings.  . 

"  A  thousand  years  of  silenced  factions  sleep." 

These  chapels  underneath  have  well  been  called  the  Chro- 
nicles of  France  and  Europe — stone  and  marble  editions 
of  the  Book  of  French  Kings  and  Queens,  Counsellors, 
Warriors,  Heroes,  and  Philosophers.  It  is  hardly  possible 
to  make  the  circuit  of  these  subterranean  recesses,  without 
stumbling  on  prostrate  royalty,  or  on  some  marble  form, 
whose  prototype  in  the  days  of  Chivalry  and  the  Crusades,, 
waged  battle  with  the  mailed  knight,   encountered  the 


PARIS.  141 

scimetar  of  the  Saracen,  or  charged  the  English  bowmen 
at  Cressy,  Poictiers,  or  Agincourt.  The  sculpture  of  some 
of  the  cenotaphs  is  exquisite,  and  the  recumbent  statues 
beautiful.  In  one  of  the  recesses  is  a  statue  of  Marie 
Antoinette  in  a  kneeling  posture,  considered  a  perfect  like- 
ness of  that  unfortunate  princess.  Brazen-doors  open  into 
the  royal  vault,  now  containing  eight  coffins,  in  which 
are  t^e  remains  of  Louis  XVI.  and  his  Queen,  Louis  XVIII. 
and  other  members  of  this  branch  of  the  royal  family. 
The  retaains  of  the  greatest  monarch  of  them  all.  Napoleon, 
rest  near  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  under  the  dome  of  the 
Hotel  des  Invalides,  "in  the  midst  of  the  people  that  he 
loved  so  well."  There  is  ample  daylight  in  the  crypts  be- 
neath St.  Denis,  and  every  thing  is  seen  to  the  best  advan- 
tage.   It  is  just  the  spot  where  Richard  II.  might  have  told 

"  Sad  stories  of  the  death  of  Kings : — 
How  some  have  been  depos'd,  some  slain  in  war, 
Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  depos'd, 
Some  poison'd  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping  killed." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JOURNEY  FROM  PARIS  TO  CHAMONIX. 

Departure  from  Paris  —  Macon  —  Geneva  —  Ride  to  Chamonix  — 
Mar  de  Glace  —  The  Source  ol  the  Arveiron  —  Mont  Blanc. 

It  was  at  early  dawn  on  a  summer  morning  that  we  left 
Paris,  by  the  Lyons  railway  for  Macon.  There  is  nothing 
peculiarly  striking  about  the  scenery  between  Paris  and 
Macon.  The  country  is  generally  level,  and  with  a  few 
exceptions,  the  towns  through  which  you  pass  have  no 
particular  interest.  "We  caught  a  passing  glimpse  of  the 
picturesque  towers  of  the  old  Cathedral  of  Sens,  where 
Thomas  Becket  found  a  sanctuary,  when  he  fled  from 
the  wrath  of  Henry,  of  England :  and  we  saw  for  a  mo- 
ment, at  Dijon,  the  gloomy  looking  front  of  what  was  once 
the  Palace  of  the  celebrated  Dukes  of  Burgundy.  The 
low  lying  hills  to  the  north  and  south  of  Dijon,  were 
pointed  out  to  us  as  the  famous  range,  whose  vineyards 
produce  the  delicious  wine,  that  bears  the  name  of  this 
once  proud  Duchy.  Now  and  then,  we  passed  through 
quaint  old  towns,  with  their  fantastic  gables,  grim  looking 
steeples  and  towers,  and  furnishing  at  intervals,  a  rapid 
glance  along  the  vista  of  some  ancient  street,  with  its  red 
tiled  bouses,  and  narrow  time-worn  footways.  Along 
through  the  open  country,  might  be  seen  the  'picturesque 
looking  windmills,  swinging  their  huge  arms  lazily  around : 
or  some  venerable  chateau  peeping  out  from  the  leafy 
shelter  of  ancestral  trees.     We  arrived  at  Macon,  spme 


DEPARTURE  FROM  PARIS.  143 

three  hundred  miles  from  Paris,  late  in  the  afternoon.  It 
is  a  forlorn  old  town,  located  on  the  banks  of  the  Saone, 
which  is  spanned  here  by  a  bridge  of  twelve  arches.  Nor 
did  the  discomforts  of  the  filthiest  Inn  to  be  met  with  in 
Europe,  assist  in  changing  for  the  better  our  first  impres- 
sions of  its  misery  and  wretchedness.  Macon  is  the  seat 
of  a  considerable  trade  in  wine,  and  gives  name  to  a  pecu- 
liar kind,  both  red  and  whit.e,  much  admired  by  French- 
men; but  to  an  uncultivated  taste,  smacking  very  much 
of  the  sharpness  of  the  best  vinegar.  At  five  the  next 
morning,  we  were  off  in  the  diligence  for  Geneva.  We 
started  at  a  dashing  pace  over  the  Bridge,  stopping  to 
breakfast  at  a  miserable  village,  some  twenty  miles  from 
Macon,  where  sour  wine,  omelettes  reeking  with  oil,  and 
chickens  that  appeared  to  have  died  of  a  slow  decline,  were 
rather  revolting,  even  to  a  traveler's  appetite,  made  still 
more  keen  by  the  fresh  morning  air.  The  scenery  along 
the  first  part  of  the  road  was  monotonous  and  tame  in  the 
extreme;  but  towards  noon  we  had  the  magnificent  range  of 
the  Jura  towering  above  us,  and  were  soon  in  the  midst  of 
the  glorious  scenery  of  its  mountain  passes.  The  road  over 
the  Jura  is  constructed  in  the  most  substantial  manner,  and 
all  along  protected  at  the  sides.  As  we  passed  over  some 
of  the  loftier  eminences,  troops  of  mountain  girls,  be- 
sieged the  sides  of  the  diligence  with  offerings  of  Alpine 
flowers^  for  which  of  course,  they  expected  and  received 
a  few  sous  in  return.  About  three  o'clock,  we  caught 
sight  of  the  long  range  of  the  snow-covered  summits  of  the 
Oberland  Alps,  and  a  short  time  afterwards  the  magnifi- 
cent dome  of  Mont  Blano  appeared,  rising  cold  and  white 
against  the  sky.  At  fiijst  the  appearance  was  that  of  a 
huge   white   cloud;  but   remaining   stationary,  with   no 


144  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

alteration  of  its  shape,  we  soon  discovered  that  it  was  the 
snowy  top  of  the  monarch  of  mountains.  There  was 
nothing  very  striking  in  the  appearance  it  first  presented ; 
but  when  the  descending  sun  emerged  from  a  heavy  bank 
of  clouds,  and  threw  his  parting  rays  full  upon  the  sum- 
mit, the  mountain  stood  forth  in  all  its  beauty.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  magnificent ;  for  a  while  it  appeared 
like  a  huge  dome  of  solid  silver,^  and  we  felt  the  truth  of 
those  lines  of  the  poet : 

"  Mighty  Mont  Blanc,  thou  wert  to  me 
That  moment,  with  thy  brow  in  heaven, 

As  sure  a  sign  of  Deity 
As  e'er  to  mortal  gaze  was  given." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  we  rattled  into  Geneva^ 
but  late  as  it  was,  we  could  hardly  pass  on  over  the  long 
bridge,  for  the  crowds  of  people  that  were  thronging  it.  It 
had  been  a  fete  day,  and  the  streets  were  still  thronged 
with  gay  crowds.  The  next  morning  from  one  of  the 
balconies  of  ''The  Hotel  des  Bergues,"  we  had  a  full 
view  of  Mont  Blanc,  some  fifty  miles  away.  An  agreeable 
impression  is  produced  by  the  cleanliness  and  comfort 
everywhere  visible.  The  beauty  of  the  Quays  which 
border  the  Lake  and  the  Rhone,  and  the  elegance  of  the 
private  edifices  cannot  be  surpassed  in  any  city  on  the 
continent.  We  spent  Sunday  in  Geneva  ;  but  I  am  sure 
that  John  Calvin  would  not  know  his  favorite  city.  The 
observance  of  the  Sabbath  is  no  more  attended  to  in 
here,  than  in  Paris.  Workmen  were  busily  engaged  on 
some  of  the  new  buildings  going  up  along  the  Quay,  while 
the  bustle  and  stir  of  the  streets,  where  open  shops  dis- 
played their  stores,  jndicated  that  Sunday  was  as  much  of 
a  festive  day,  as  at  Paris. 


GENEVA.  145 

The  modern  portion  of  Geneva  displays  considerable 
architectural  taste;  but  the  old  town  has  very  little  to 
boast  of.  The  history  of  the  Canton  does  not  present  many 
points  of  interest.  It  had  an  early  origin,  as  it  is  supposed 
to  have  been  mentioned  by  Caesar  in  his  Commentaries. 
There  can  be  no  question  that  the  Romans  made  conside- 
rable sojourn  here,  from  the  fact,  that  constantly  medals 
are  being  found  of  Roman  origin,  and  other  memorials  of 
that  once  powerful  nation.  It  was  in  the  fifth  century  that 
Christianity  was  introduced.  It  then  formed  part  of  the 
great  Burgundian  kingdom,  and  was  a  portion  of  the 
Germanic  empire.  After  various  efforts  to  seize  the  sove- 
reignty by  different  powerful  Lords,  the  Counts  of  Savoy 
at  last  acquired  an  ascendancy,  and  for  a  long  time  kept  it. 
At  the  Reformation,  the  influence  of  that  House  declined, 
and  was  finally  entirely  destroyed  under  Calvin.  Calvin 
settled  in  Geneva  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, and  during  a  twenty-eight  years'  residence,  consoli- 
dated, not  without  some  tyranny  and  persecution,  and  a  ^ 
proportionate  amount  of  resistance,  the  new  social  edifice. 
In  the  latter  part  of  the  same  century,  the  town  concluded 
an  alliance  with  Zurich  and  Berne,  and  for  a  long  time 
was  the  great  Protestant  asylum  for  refugees  from  France, 
Italy,  and  England.  The  House  of  Savoy  raised  a  great 
army  in  the  early  part  of  the  next  century^  and  advanced 
npon  Geneva.  France  encouraged  Geneva,  and  with  Berne 
carried  on  a  war,  which  covered  the  little  confederacy 
with  glory  and  desolation.  During  the  political  upheavings 
caused  by  the  French  Revolution,  the  Canton  fell  under 
French  rule.  But  when  the  result  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo 
had  shattered  forever  the  power  of  Napoleon,  she  declared 
herself  a  Republic,  and  her  independence  was  recognized 


146  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

in  the  Congress  of  Vienna.  At  the  present  time,  the 
government  of  the  Canton  is  administered  by  a  Council 
of  State,  composed  of  seven  members  elected  by  the  suf- 
frages of  the  citizens.  The  legislative  power  is  in  the 
hands  of  ninety-three  deputies,  also  elected  by  the  people. 
The  birth  place  of  Rousseau,  possesses  great  attractions 
from  its  natural  surroundings,  and  we  should  have  loved 
to  explore  all  the  interesting  localities  within  the  limits 
of  the  city  itself:  but  it  was  in  the  latter  part  of  August, 
and  we  were  anxious  to  visit  the  Alpine  Region  before  the 
advance  of  the  season  should  make  such  a  visit  disagree- 
able. We  spent,  therefore,  but  one  day  in  Geneva,  and 
the  morning  after,  found  us  on  our  way  to  Chamonix, 
which  is  some  fifty  miles  distant.  The  scenery  along 
this  road  is  exceedingly  fine,  and  might  be  enjoyed, 
were  it  not  for  the  disgusting  cases  of  goitre,  and  the 
numerous  cretins,  who  lay  basking  at  the  doors  of  the 
houses  in  the  villages  you  pass.  Halting  at  the  old  town 
of  Bonneville,  a  small  place  on  the  banks  of  the  Arve,  I 
took  occasion  to  visit  the  Court  House,  where  a  trial  for 
larceny  was  on.  The  Court  occupied  the  third  story  room 
of  a  most  wretched  looking  brick  structure.  A  bey  of 
about  fourteen  was  in  the  prisoner's  box,  who  seemed  to 
be  well  guarded  by  armed  officials,  answering  to  our  con- 
stables, there  being  no  less  than  four  in  his  immediate  vici- 
nity. The  array  of  Judges  on  the  Bench,  did  not  present 
a  very  powerful  intellectual  display.  The  officer  answer- 
ing to  our  Prosecuting  Attorney,  arrayed  in  a  small  black 
cap,  and  sadly  dirty  gown  of  the  same  color,  occupied  a 
seat  near  the  Tribunal  facing  the  prisoner.  "When  the 
cause  .was  called,  he  rose  and  addressed  the  President 
Judge,  and  proceeded  to  read  the  accusation  in  a  very  hur- 


RIDE  TO  CHAMONIX.  147 

ried  manner.  This  accusation  set  forth  a  series  of  trifling 
depredations  committed  by  the  prisoner  at  the  bar — ending 
with  the  larceny  of  a  watch.  A  half  dozen  witnesses  were 
examined,  and  after  some  very  sharp  interrogatories  put 
the  prisoner  by  the  Court,  he  was  found  guilty  and  sen- 
tenced to  the  chain-gang  in  the  streets  of  Bonneville  for 
three  years.  There  was  no  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  and 
the  prosecutor  seemed  to  have  it  all  his  own  way.  As  we 
passed  through  the  streets  of  Bonneville,  I  noticed  the 
poor  boy  in  the  midst  of  the  chain  gang,  with  an  iron  ball 
to  his  leg.  I  had  only  seen  him  condemned  but  half  an 
hour  before.  We  passed  through  Cluses,  a  modem  look- 
ing town,  celebrated  as  the  manufactory  of  those  exquisite 
musical  boxes  and  watch  wheels^  for  which  Geneva  is  so 
famous.  Shortly  after  leaving  Cluses,  we  had  a  fine  sight 
of  the  Mole,  a  Snowdon-like  hill,  three  thousand  feet  high, 
which  we  had*  seen  before  from  Geneva.  Now  we  were 
close  to  the  river  Arve — now  traversing  a  cultivated  level, 
round  which  the  stream  curves  to  the  other  side  of  the 
valley — now  mounting  the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  or  skirting 
the  base  of  some  frowning  cliff.  At  Sallanches,  the  road 
from  thence  to  Chamonix  becomes  narrow  and  difficult, 
and  we  were  forced  to  leave  our  comfortable  convey- 
ance behind  us,  and  take  to  the  uncomfortable  little 
two-horse  cars  that  are  built  specially  to  traverse  the 
roughness  of  the  remainder  of  the  road.  At  the  Bridge 
crossing  the  Arve  at  Sallanches,  we  obtained  glorious  views 
of  the  snow-covered  summit  of  Mont  Blanc.  It  looked  as 
if  an  half  hour's  walk  would  have  enabled  us  to  reach  it ; 
and  yet  it  was  sixteen  miles  away — so  deceptive  is  distance 
in  these  Alpine  regions.  Shortly  after  leaving  Servoz, 
you  come  to  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  ascent,  rugged 


148  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

and  rocky,  commanding  some  grand  views  of  deep  gorges, 
dark  with  pine  woods,  and  of  precipitous  mountain  ridges 
bristling  with  their  rocky  battlements  in  the  distance.  On 
leaving  this  narrow  and  savage  pass,  we  entered  the  valley 
of  Chamonix,  just  as  evening  was  drawing  a  curtain  over 
the  earth.  The  road  takes  a  northeasterly  direction  under 
the  base  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  in  the  distance  we  caught 
sight  of  the  five  glaciers  which  descend  into  the  very  plain. 
The  vallef^  of  Chamonix  is  about  fifteen  miles  in  length, 
traversed  by  the  rapid  and  turbid  stream  of  the  Arve.  We 
found  most  excellent  quarters  at  the  Royal  Union  Hotel, 
and  those  comforts  which  are  so  agreeable  to  the  traveler, 
who  has  endured  the  fiitigues  of  such  a  rough  journey  as 
that  from  Geneva  to  Chamonix.  The  next  morning,  look- 
ing directly  up  to  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  from  my 
chamber  window,  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  it  would  re- 
quire eighteen  hours  steady  climbing  to  roach  fhe  top.  From 
the  valley  it  looks  as  if  half  an  hour  might  accomplish  it. 
At  noon,  while  looking  at  some  adventurers,  who  had 
started  the  day  before  to  make  the  ascent,  I  began  to 
get  a  more  perfect  realization  of  the  immense  height  of 
the  mountain.  They  had  just  reached  the  summit,  and 
had  turned  to  descend,  but  with  a  telescope  of  considerable 
power,  you  could  just  discern  three  dark  spots  about  the 
size  of  moles,  moving  down  the  snow-covered  side  of  the 
mountain.  The  second  morning  after  our  arrival,  we 
started  at  an  early  hour  for  an  excursion  to  the  Mer  de 
Glace.  It  is  attained  by  an  ascent  of  some  three  thousand 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  valley,  and  which  some  three 
hours'  climbing  on  the  part  of  your  trusty  mules  enables 
you  to  reach.  It  is  exceedingly  steep  in  some  parts,  but 
not  the  least  difficult.    A  gradual  ascent,  bordered  on  each 


THE   MER   DE   GLACE.  149 

hand  by  masses  of  rock  detached  from  the  mountain  sides, 
leads  to  the  fountain  of  Claudine  of  Chamonix;  where,  in 
the  Opera  of  "Linda,"  she  is  supposed  to  have  first  seen 
her  lover.  During  the  ascent,  we  had  through  the  open 
spaces  in  the  forest,  an  almost  uninterrupted  view  of 
Chamonix,  with  its  diflferent  villages  surrounded  by  trees 
and  cornfields  on  the  banks  of  the  Arve;  but  on  arriving 
at  Montanvert  the  scene  changes  entirely.  Instead  of  a 
fertile  plain,  you  find  yourself  on  the  brink  of  a  preci- 
pice, hanging  over  a  scene  worthy  of  the  Arctic  regions, 
a  large  valley  of  eternal  ice  and  anow.  The  Mer  de  Glace, 
is  full  fifty-four  miles  long,  and  in  some  places  .nearly 
three  wide.  The  thickness  or  depth  of  the  glacier  varies 
according  to  the  surface :  the  average  is  from  eighty 
to  one  hundred  feet;  but  in  some  places  owing  to  the 
hollows  of  the  rocks  beneath,  it  may  be  as  much  as 
four  or  five  hunded.  This  great  ice  river,  if  it  may 
be  so  called,  is  formed  from  two  streams  that  pour 
forth  from  difierent  sources  in  the  higher  Alps.  The 
origin  of  glaciers  is  from  the  accumulation  of  snow  in  the 
upper  valleys.  In  the  spring  and  summer  these  masses 
become  saturated  during  the  day  with  rain  water,  or 
imbibe  the  moisture  of  their  exterior,  which  has  been 
liquified  by  the  rays  of  the  sun.  During  night,  or  on 
the  approach  of  winter,  the  remnant  is  frozen  into  a  mass 
of  porous  ice,  which  is  again  covered  by  a  coating  of  snow 
in  the  next  winter,  and  thus  by  degrees  in  the  progress 
of  ages,  these  immense  glaciers  have  been  formed.  We 
descended  to  the  level  of  the  glacier,  after  having  rested  at 
the  Montanvert  for  a  short  space.  When  you  arrive  upon 
it,  the  appearance  is  for  all  the  world,  as  if  by  some  magic 
spell^  a  raging,  roaring  torrent  rushing  headlong  in  its- 
n2 


150  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

course,  had  been  arrested  in  mid-career  by  the  breath  of 
"  The  Ice  King."  And  yet  still  as  the  Glacier  appears  to 
human  vision,  that  vast  icy  bed  is  in  continual  motion, 
moving  downward  towards  the  valley,  into  which  it  intrudes 
some  considerable  distance.  It  moves  on  with  a  steady 
flow,  although  no  eye  sees  its  motion ;  but  from  day  to 
day,  and  year  to  year,  the  secret  silent  cause,  whatever  it 
may  be,  produces  the  certain  slow  effect.  The  avalanche 
feeds  it,  aiid  swells  its  flowing  tide,  and  at  night  when  the 
mountain  life  stands  almost  still — when  its  countless  little 
veins  are  frozen  up,  and  the  murmur  .of  its  thousand 
rills  is  hushed  to  rest — the  glacier's  giant  pulse  alone  beats 
heavily  and  slow.  Nothing  is  more  curious  than  the 
transportation  of  immense  masses  of  rock  into  the  valley, 
by  this  constant  movement  of  the  glacier  :  and  at  the  foot 
of  the  Mer  de  Glace,  known  as  the  Glacier  des  Bois,  may  be 
seen  huge  masses  of  rock,  that  have  been  thus  strangely 
«)rought  into  the  valley  by  the  unseen,  but  never  ceasing 
motion.  Professor  Forbes,  who  was  lost  to  science  all  too 
soon,  speaking  of  this  motion,  and  the  calculations  that  have 
made  upon  the  time  which  it  takes  to  bring  these  huge 
masses  from  the  higher  Alps,  most  beautifully  says : 

"A  glacier  is  an  endless  scroll,  a  stream  of  time,  upon 
whose  stainless  ground  is  engraven  the  succession  of  events, 
whose  dates  far  transcend  the  memory  of  living  mat.  At 
the  usual  rate  of  descent,  a  rock  which  fell  upon  a  high 
glacier  two  hundred  years  ago,  may  only  just  now  have 
reached  its  final  resting-place  in  the  lower  country :  and 
a  block  larger  than  the  largest  of  Egyptian  obelisks, 
may  occupy  the  time  of  six  generations  of  men  in  its 
descent,  before  it  is  laid  low  in  the  common  grave  of  its 
predecessors.''  When  the  glacier  presses  its  terrific  plough- 


THE  ARYEIRON.  151 

eliare  far  into  the  valley,  it  turns  up  the  soil,  and  wrinkles 
in  advance  the  green  sward  of  the  meadows — brings 
among  the  fields  the  blasts  of  winter,  overthrowing  trees 
and  houses  in  its  tremendous  progress.  It  would  be  impos- 
sible fully  to  describe  the  grand  wildness  of  the  scenery 
surrounding  this  glacier.  Beneath  your  feet — far  up  amid 
the  eternal  snows — below  you,  where  the  heat  of  the  valley 
has  at  last  checked  the  onward  progress  of  the  glacier, 
rise  the  frozen  waves  of  the  Mer  de  Glace,  some  as  high 
as  twenty  and  thirty  feet.  Around,  on  all  sides,  ten  and 
twelve  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  the  needle 
shaped  rocks,  that  give  such  grand  effect  to  the  scenery  of 
the  valley,  are  piercing  the  skies.  On  the  left  you  have 
the  Aiguille  du  Dru,  behind  it  is  the  Aiguille  Verte,  on 
the  right  the  Aiguille  du  Moine^  and  the  Aiguille  du 
Bochard — around  extends  a  rampart  of  colossal  rocks, 
whose  crumbling  summits  attest  the  influence  of  many 
thousand  seasons,  and  whose  sterile  grandeur  has  an  impos- 
ing effect  upon  the  mind.  Our  descent  from  the  Mont- 
anvert  was  more  rapid  than  our  ascent,  for  in  two  hours 
we  had  reached  without  much  fatigue  our  hotel.  That  same 
evening  we  visited  the  source  of  the  Arveiron,  a  rapid 
torrent,  which  issues  from  a  vault  of  ice  under  the  extre- 
mity of  the  Glacier  des  Bois,  the  lower  part  of  the  Mer 
de  Glace.  This  remarkable  source  is  one  of  the  finest 
sights  in  Chamonix.  We  soon  reached  the  moraines  of 
rock  and  stone  brought  down  from  the  mountain  in  the 
course  of  ages^  by  the  action  of  the  glacier.  Then  we 
clambered  over  these  immense  deposits  to  the  edge  of  the 
ice  which  rises  like  a  huge  wall,  and  listened  in  the 
stillness  of  the  evening  to  the  straining  and  crushing  that 
came  from  the  mighty  mass  above.     The  Arveiron  here 


152  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

rushes  from  three  low  arches  at  the  foot  of  a  dark  blue 
cliflF  of  ice,  turbid  and  foaming :  and  as  the  eye  peers  into 
those  darksome  vaults,  the  imagination  begins  to  picture 
the  terrible  aspect  of  the  interior.  We  crept  as  near  as 
the  stream  would  permit,  and  leaned  over  the  rocky  ram- 
part to  gaze  and  listen.  The  whole  scene  around  was  of 
the  most  impressive  character.  The  water  here  rushes 
swiftly  and  with  great  noise  from  its  source  deep  in  the 
heart  of  the  glacier.  At  times  the  volume  is  largely 
increased,  and  often  the  sudden  checking  of  this  stream 
has  been  the  cause  of  terrible  devastation.  Some  years 
ago,  the  arches  at  the  foot  of  the  glacier  being  worn 
by  the  water  fell  in,  and  the  fragments  becoming  frozen, 
dammed  up  the  glacier  river.  The  waters  thus  impeded, 
accumulated  rapidly,  until  at  a  point  many  hundred  feet 
above  the  former  vent,  they  burst  through  in  a  tremendous 
cataract,  and  with  a  deafening  roar,  tumbling  headlong 
upon  the  glacier,  swept  dwellings,  trees,  and  fences 
away  before  it,  for  many  miles  along  the  valley.  If  the 
action  of  one  glacier  could  produce  such  consequences, 
what  might  not  be  the  devastation  if  the  whole  four  hun- 
dred, large  and  small,  should  be  placed  in  a  like  position. 
Taking  the  glaciers  as  from  three  to  twelve  miles  long  upon 
an  average,  one  to  four  miles  wide,  and  from  one  to  nine 
hundred  thick;  the  calculation  has  been  made,  that  about 
thirty  millions  of  cubic  fathoms  of  ice,  are  slowly  trans- 
ported down  the  mountain  ravines  every  year.  Looking 
up  at  the  huge  arches,  lumps  of  stone  large  and  small, 
were  continually  falling — now  plunging  into  the  stream, 
now  clattering  into  the  hollows  of  the  moraines,  showing 
the  ceaseless  movement  of  the  glacier.  It  was  rather  a 
warm  evening,  but  the  vicinity  of  this  huge  mass  of  ice, 
produced  a  cool  descending  current  of  air,  and  it  became 


ASCENTS  OP  MONT  BLANC.  153 

quite  chilly.  ITow  striking  too,  was  the  contrast  in  view 
— a  cataract  of  ice  barred  apparently  by  a  dam  of  rocks — 
a  torrent  rushing  from  beneath — a  waterfall  tumbling  in 
clouds  of  spray  from  above.  Within  a  few  feet  of  the 
frozen  mass,  grass  was  growing,  with  fir  trees  bordering  it, 
until  lost  behind  the  bend  towards  Montanvert.  It  was  in 
truth,  winter  frowning  in  the  face  of  summer  to  resent  the 
intrusion  into  his  territory — yet  held  in  check  by  her  warm 
and  glowing  breath.  Far  in  the  distance  looking  upward 
along  the  glacier,  rose  the  tall  Aiguilles,  with  their  lofty 
pinnacles,  tipped  with  the  roseate  rays  of  the  sunlight 
which  had  long  left  the  valley.  It  was  one  of  those  sights, 
once  seen,  never  to  be  forgotten. 

The  season  being  favorable,  very  little  snow  having  fallen, 
made  the  ascent  to  Mont  Blanc,  comparatively  an  easy 
matter.  In  consequence  some  twenty  or  thirty  ascents 
were  made  during  the  months  of  July  and  August.  Dur- 
ing our  short  stay  at  Chamonix,  some  four  were  made, 
and  the  week  before  our  arrival,  a  young  and  ambitious 
Englishwoman  dared  the  enterprise;  but  much  to  the 
trouble  and  disgust  of  the  guides,  who  were  compelled  to 
carry  her  up  the  most  difficult  passes.  One  of  them  told 
me,  **My  lady  had  more  spirit  than  strength,  and  more  ef- 
frontery than  either."  Most  of  those  who  effected  the  ascent 
while  we  were  at  Chamonix,  suffered  severely  afterwards 
from  inflammation  of  the  eyes,  produced  by  the  snow 
dazzle:  and  our  curiosity  could  not  be  gratified  at  the 
expense  of  so  severe  a  penalty.  Neither  is  the  prospect 
from  its  summit  any  finer  than  that  afforded  by  numerous 
other  and  more  accessible  elevations  in  Switzerland.  The 
height  is  so  great  that  objects  in  the  plain  appear  envel- 
loped  in  a  haze  —  its  chief  merit  is  said  to  be,  in  the 
perfect  insight  afforded  into  the  structure  of  all  the  highest 


154  FOREIGN  ETCHINaS. 

Alps,   whose  pinnacles  it  places  under  the  view  of  tte 
observer. 

The  summit  of  Mont  Blanc,  which  is  nearly  fifteen 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  is,  I  was  informed 
by  one  of  those  who  had  accomplished  the  ascent,  but  a 
very  narrow  ridge,  hardly  wide  enongh  for  two  persons  to 
walk  abreast,  with  a  gentle  slope  on  each  side.  The  diflO.- 
culty  in  the  ascent  commences  after  leaving  the  ridge  of 
rocks  known  as  the  Grand  Mulcts,  where  the  adventurers 
rest  for  the  night.  About  five  hours  from  this  spot,  which 
is  left  very  early  in  the  morning,  they  encounter  the  Mur 
de  la  Cote.  This  is  an  almost  perpendicular  wall  of  ice, 
nearly  three  hundred  feet  high,  and  bordered  on  the  left 
by  an  awful  precipice.  Here  the  guides  are  compelled  to 
cut  a  footing  for  every  step  in  the  ice.  Much  depends 
now  upon  the  firmness  of  nerve  displayed,  and  the  fact  that 
80  very  few  fatal  accidents  have  happened  among  the 
numerous  ascents,  speaks  well  both  for  the  nerves  of  the 
adventurer,  and  the  skill  of  the  Guides.  Chamonix, 
.though  certainly  one  of  the  most  interesting  spots  in  Swit- 
zerland, is  not  a  place  where  the  tourist  loves  to  linger 
long.  Hemmed  in  by  its  huge  barriers  of  rock,  it  seems 
as  if  shut  out  fropi  the  world,  and  once  having  made  all 
the  excursions  in  the  vicinity,  life  in  the  valley  becomes 
tiresome  and  monotonous  in  the  extreme.  In  consequence 
tourists  linger  but  a  few  days  and  are  off"  for  more  varied 
and  interesting  scenes^  in  localities  not  so  isolated. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOURNEY  FROM   CHAMONIX  TO  VEVAY. 

Departure  from  Chamonix  —  Lake  Leman  and  its  shores  —  Vevay  — 
Visit  to  Castle  Chillon. 

We  returned  to  Geneva  from  Chamonix,  by  the  same 
road  we  had  travelled  a  few  days  before,  and  early  the 
next  morning  were  on  the  Steamer  Helvetia,  on  our  way 
to  Vevay  at  the  upper  part  of  Lake  Leman.  Our  boat 
first  slackened  speed,  opposite  the  quaint  looking  town  of 
Coppet.  Upon  the  heights  above  the  town,  stands  a  vene- 
rable Chateau.  It  once  sheltered  beneath  its  roof,  the 
Minister  Neckar,  whose  financial  ability,  great  as  it  was, 
could  not  save  France  from  the  dreadful  retribution  that 
awaited  her.  In  the  little  Church  —  whose  picturesque 
steeple  may  be  seen  just  beyond  the  Chateau — he  is 
buried,  and  by  his  side  reposes  all  that  was  mortal  of  his 
more  celebrated  daughter,  Madame  de  Stael,  whose  genius 
still  throws  a  charm  over  French  literature.  Upon  leav- 
ing Coppet,  the  scenery  of  the  Lake  begins  to  open  more 
beautifully.  Far  on  the  right,  rise  the  summits  of  the 
mountains  of  Savoy,  with  a  girdle  of  clouds  encompassing 
their  peaks — on  the  left,  the  less  lofty,  but  quite  pictur- 
esque chain  of  the  Jura,  with  here  and  there  vineyards 
stretching'  down  the  slopes,  and  country  seats,  with  gar- 
dens gorgeous  with  many-hued  flowers,  reaching  down  to 
the  very  borders  of  the  Lake.  And  there,  built  partly 
along  the  bank  of  the  Lake,  and  partly  on  a  terraced  hill, 


156  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

is  tlie  ancient  town  of  Nyon.  It  was  once  a  Roman 
Colony,  and  still  shows  traces  of  the  old  military  wall, 
built  by  the  colony  sent  by  the  first  Caesar  to  lay 
the  foundations  of  a  town.  In  the  remote  and  vapory 
distance  is  seen  across  the  Lake,  the  old  town  of  Thonon, 
the  ancient  capital  of  Chablais,  whose  whitened  walls  con- 
trast with  the  sombre  verdure  of  the  surrounding  hills. 
Passing  Nyon,  we  are  at  the  extremity  of  the  Little  L^ko 
as  it  is  called,  and  you  can  see  the  steeples  and  turrets  of 
Geneva,  shining  like  a  luminous  point  in  the  extreme  dis- 
tance. We  pass  between  a  small  island  and  a  town.  li 
is  the  little  town  of  Rolle,  and  the  small  white  monument 
you  see  in  the  centre  of  the  island,  is  erected  to  the  me- 
mory of  (Greneral  Harpe,  a  native  of  Rolle,  and  it  thus 
signalizes  its  gratitude  for  the  glory  he  has  reflected  by 
his  deeds  upon  his  native  place.  What  magnificent 
scenery  now  opens  before  us  !  The  high  mountains,  whose 
base  is  washed  by  the  blue  waters  of  the  Lake,  now  take 
sharper  outlines  in  the  landscape.  They  form  round  the 
Gulf  of  Thonon  a  verdant  belt,  deepened  here  and  there 
by  dense  forests.  Now  you  may  observe  the  group  of  the 
Dents  d'Oche,  with  brows  white  with  eternal  snow,  rising 
above  the  left  bank  like  an  abrupt  wall,  and  projecting 
their  peaks  obliquely  into  the  azure  sky.  Presently  Lau- 
sanne perched  half  way  up  the  hill,  comes  into  view ;  the 
spires  of  its  ancient  Cathedral  forming  a  prominent  point  in 
the  picture.  The  amphitheatre  formed  by  the  slopes  that 
descend  from  the  town  to  the  borders  of  the  Lake,  are 
covered  with  the  rich  green  of  vineyards,  giving  a  very 
beautiful  eflfect,  as  seen  from  the  water.  It  was  in  this 
place  Gibbon  wrote  his  *' Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire,"  and  the  site  of  the  grotto,  in  which  most  of  this 


LAKE  LEMAN. 


15Y 


cliarming  work  was  written,  is  now  covered  by  tlie  build- 
ings belonging  to  the  Hotel  Gibbon.  A  few  miles  far- 
ther on,  and  we  find  ourselves  opposite  Vevay.  Embarking 
in  the  wide  boat  that  plays  the  part  of  a  water  omnibus 
to  convey  passengers  to  the  landing,  we  were  soon  at  the 
stone  stairs,  leading  directly  up  to  the  picturesque  garden 
of  the  Hotel  of  the  Three  Crowns— decidedly  the  best 
arranged  and  most  comfortable  Hotel  in  Europe.  That 
evening  the  scene  presented  in  the  garden  on  the  Lake, 
was  romantic  in  the  extreme.  The  placid  Leman  looked 
as  smooth  and  bright  as  a  mirror ;  and  the  full  moon  was 
reflected  far  down  in  its  quiet  depths.  The  sound  of 
sweet  music,  keeping  time  to  the  measured  dash  of  the 
oar,  was  ever  and  anon  delighting  the  ear,  as  it  was  borne 
to  us  over  the  waters,  sounding  marvellously  sweet. 
Shaded  in  misty  outlines  silvered  in  the  moonlight,  rose 
the  snow-capped  mountains,  seeming  like  giant  sentinels 
to  guard  the  entrance  to  the  Lake.  Vevay  is  one  of  the 
principal  towns  in  the  Canton  of  Yaud,  and  is  a  place  of 
considerable  importance.  It  has  a  very  fair  trade;  its 
position  rendering  it  the  natural  entrepot  of  the  various 
indigenous  commodities,  and  the  centre  of  the  commerce 
between  the  Cantons  of  Vaud,  Freibourg,  Berne,  Geneva 
and  Chablais.  Beneath  the  pavement  of  its  old  Church  of 
St.  Martin,  are  buried  the  regicides  Ludlow  and  Brough- 
ton,  who  in  this  little  town,  after  many  hair-breadth 
escapes,  at  last  found  refuge  from  the  perils  to  which  they 
were  exposed  at  the  Eestoration.  Ludlow  was  one  of  the 
Judges  of  Charles  I.  and  Broughton  was  the  person  who 
read  to  him  his  death  warrant. 

The  next  morning  after  our  arrival,  we  hired  a  boat  at 
the  stairs,  for  a  row  to  the  far-famed  Castle  of  Chillon. 
0 


158  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

The  morning  was  indeed  beautiful;  a  gentle  breeze  just 
rippling  the  surface  of  the  Lake.  On  one  side  of  us  were 
the  rich  green  slopes  that  rise  so  gracefully  behind  the 
little  town  of  Vevay;  while  on  the  other,  the  bold  and 
lofty  crags  of  the  mountains  were  reflected  far  down  in 
the  clear  blue  waters  of  the  Lake.  Before  us,  towards 
Castle  Chillon,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  Lake  into 
the  valley,  the  peaks  of  the  mountains,  white  with  eter- 
nal snows,  gave  quite  a  picturesque  appearance  to  the 
scene.  As  Qur  boat  sped  on,  we  passed  the  Tour  de  Peilz, 
half  a  mile  to  the  east  of  Vevay,  presenting  a  bold  front 
to  the  Lake,  with  its  ancient  walls,  and  queer  looking 
chateau.  And  there  too,  high  up  on  the  slope  of  the 
mountain,  that  rears  its  indented  crags  high  above,  and 
surrounded  by  vineyards  rich  with  verdure,  nestles  the 
pretty  Village  of  Clarens,  whose  name  will  live  as  long  as 
the  French  language,  in  association  with  the  impassioned 
scenes  of  the  Nouvelle  Heldue,  and  those  lines  of  Byron's. 

"  Clarens !  by  heavenly  feet  thy  paths  are  trod — 
Undying  Loves,  who  here  ascends  a  throne 
To  which  the  steps  are  mountains." 

And  now  we  are  nearing  the  world-renowned  Castle  of 
Chillon.  'This  Castle  is  situated  in  the  centre  of  a  semi- 
circle formed  at  the  base  of  richly  wooded  slopes — having 
the  Tower  of  Villeneuve  at  one  extremity,  and  a  small  but 
picturesque  Swiss  Chalet  at  the  other.  The  Castle  itself 
is  seated  on  the  right  of  a  defile,  upon  an  isolated  rock  in 
the  midst  of  the  waters.  On  the  front  of  the  structure, 
towards  the  Lake,  may  be  seen  in  huge  letters,  Libert^ 
Pa  trie;  ^'  a  noble  device,"  as  some  traveller  remarks, 
"when  properly  understood,  but  which  had  better  be  trea- 
sured in  the  heart's  core,  than  scrawled  on  walls,"     "We 


CASTLE  OF  CHILLON.  159 

landed  at  a  narrow  stairway  of  stone,  which  led  to  a  small 
covered  passage  conducting  to  the  interior  of  the  court-yatd 
of  the  Castle.  Here  we  encountered  a  huge  figure,  round 
as  a  tun,  who  certainly  would  have  been  taken  by  the  an- 
cients, as  an  embodiment  of  Bacchus.  He  desired  us  to 
wait  a  moment,  when  his  wife  would  conduct  us  through 
the  Castle.  Presently  a  smart,  tidy-looking  female,  with 
a  pair  of  sharp,  quick  grey  eyes^  shaded  by  the  broad  rim 
of  a  tasteful  Swiss  hat,  offered  to  conduct  us.  Passing  on 
with  our  guide^  who  talked  incessantly,  we  descended 
some  stone  steps  which  led  down  into  a  vaulted  space,  sup- 
ported by  several  stone  pillars,  connected  together  by 
admirably  turned  arches,  and  lighted  by  small  narrow 
windows  on  the  side  next  th«  Lake,  This  was  once  the 
old  Guard  Chamber  of  the  Castle.  Then  came  a  dark 
Hall^  where  the  light  was  so  scant,  we  were  forced  to 
grope  our  way  over  the  uneven  floor,  which  like  the 
landward  wall,  is  composed  of  massive  rock.  Into  this 
place  had  once  beep  crowded  hundreds  of  Jews,  and  we 
felt,  for  we  could  hardly  be  said  to  see,  the  ledge  of  rock, 
©n  which  a  thousand  or  more  had  been  strangled  in  one 
day  for  the  good  of  the  Church.  Above  we  could  just 
discern  the  outline  of  the  beam,  from  whose  strong  sup- 
port had  dangled  many  a  poor  wretch,  who,  after  being 
condemned  in  the  Judgment  Hall  above,  was  brought  down 
that  dark  stairway,  to  expiate  his  doom  here.  That  half 
walled-up  space  on  the  side  next  the  Lake,  indicates 
where  once  was  the  opening  through  which  their  mutilated 
bodies  wera  launched  into  the  water,  that  rolls, 

•'A  thousand  feet  in  depth  below." 
But  soon  we  were  standing  within 

"^Chillon's  dungeon  deep  and  oldJ' 


160  FOREIGN  ETCfllNGS, 

the  dungeon  of  Bonnivard.  Here  the  heroic  defender  of 
Genevan  liberty  languished  six  years  chained  to  a  pillar. 
It  looked  not  unlike  a  chapel,  with  its  groined  roof  and 
central  row  of  columns,  "massy  and  grey.''  Its  light  was 
that  of  a  pleasant  twilight.  Two  or  three  narrow  slits, 
high  up  the  wall,  admitted  the  rays  which  had  a  greenish 
hue  from  the  reflection  of  the  waters  of  the  Lake.  The 
eflfect  was  rather  heightened  by  the  light  breeze,  which 
kept  flapping  the  huge  leaf  of  some  aquatic  plant  directly 
opposite  "the  Martyr's  Pillar."  How  sweet  the  rays  of 
sunlight  must  have  been  to  the  Prior  of  St.  Victor !  and 
how  often  during  the  long  hours  of  his  six  years'  eoufine- 
ment,  must  his  eyes  have  turned  towards  these  narrow 
windpws  as. the  bright  rays  streamed  in  upon  his  dungeon 
floor.  The  iron  ring  still  remains  in  the  pillar  to  which 
he  was  chained,  and  we  saw  in  the  stone  floor,  where 

"  His  very  footsteps  had  left  a  trace, 
Worn,  as  if  the  cold  pavement  were  a  sod." 

Upon  this  Pillar,  one  may  read  the  names  of  Byron, 
Leigh  Hunt,  and  other  celebrities.  This  dungeon,  though 
many  others  suff"ered  there,  had  its  one  great  captive 
— the  illustrious  Bonnivard,  and  his  image  stands  out 
boldly  from  amongst  them  all.  The  rooms  above  had 
their  thousand  suflferers,.  and  were  suggestive  of  cruel 
scenes.  Of  their  names  few  remain,  although  the  instru- 
ments on  which  they  were  racked  and  torn  to  pieces,  still 
are  there.  Emerging  from  this  prison,  we  entered  the 
spacious  apartment  just  above  them,  which  evyiently  had 
once  been  the  Hall  of  Torture,  for  here  with  the  rust  and 
stain  of  centuries  upon  it,  still  stands  the  gaunt  and  grim 
apparatus  of  the  Inquisition.     In  the  middle  of  the  room 


CASTtE  OF  CHILLON.  161 

was  a  massive  beam,  reaching  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling 
with  a  strong  pulley  at  the  top.  This  was  the  "  Corda," 
the  queen  of  torment,  as  it  has  been  called.  The  person 
who  endured  this  torture  was  suspended  by  his  hands  from 
the  pulley,  heavy  weights  were  fastened  to  his  feet,  and 
when  all  was  ready,  he  was  slowly  hoisted  to  some  dis- 
tance, and  then  suddenly  dropped.  This  always  dislocated 
the  arms,  and  sometimes  the  weight  was  so  great,  that  the 
arms  were  torn  from  the  body.  Hot  irons  were  often 
affixed  to  the  soles  of  the  feet,  while,  they  hung  sus- 
pended, and  the  scorching  marks  of  the  fire  are  still 
plainly  visible  on  the  pillar,  where  the  poor  sufi"erers  had 
hung.  In  one  of  the  apartments,  we  were  shown  a  recess 
in  the  wall,  with  a  trap  door  at  the  bottom.  The  person 
accused  of  heresy  was  made  to  kneel  on  a  trap  door  before 
an  image  of  the  Virgin  placed  in  this  very  recess.  To 
prevent  the  possibility  of  apostacy — the  moment  the  con- 
fession was  made,  the  bolt  was  drawn,  and  the  poor  wretch 
lay  a  mangled  corpse  on  the  rocks  below.  This  Castle 
was  built  as  early  as  the  year  1238,  and  it  was  at  once  the 
Boulevard  and  defence  of  the  state.  In  1733  it  was  con- 
verted into  a  state  prison,  and  retained  this  character 
the  conclusion  of  the  century.  It  is  now  a  depot  of  arms 
and  munitions,  and  occasionally  serves  for  a  military 
guard-house. 


&2 


CHAPTER  XL 

JOURNEY   FROM   VEV^AY  TO   MAYENCE. 

Ride  to  Berne  —  Berne  —  Basle  —  Strasburg  —  Baden-Baden  — 
Heidelburg —  Mayence. 

We  left  Vevay  in  a-  private  conveyariice  for  Berne,  and 
having  taken  an  early  start,  were  fortunate  enough  to 
reach  the  summit  of  the  steep  and  long  hill,  a  few  miles 
from  Vevay,  just  as  the  sun  had  risen.  From  it,  we 
had  a  most  extensive  view  of  the  entire  expanse  of  the 
Lake  of  Geneva,  with  the  grand  Alpine  chain,  of  which 
Mont  Blanc  forms  the  eentre,  in  the  distance.  The  dis- 
tinctness of  the  view  in  the  bright  morning  light,  added 
much  to  the  indescribable  beauty  of  the  scene :  and  I  do 
not  remember  a  prospect  in  Switzerland,  that  combines  so 
much  picturesqueness  and  sublimity,  as  this  from  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Jorat.  At  Bulle,  where  we  halted  to  dine, 
there  was  a  large  fair  being  held,  and  the  streets  were  alive 
with  people.  The  array  of  booths,  and  the  display  of  all 
kinds  of  merchandize,  with  the  thronging  crowds  in  the 
long  avenues  between  the  stall«,  presented  quite  a  lively 
and  stirring  scene.  The  general  appearance  of  the  fair, 
was  strikingly  like  some  of  those  wonderful  representations 
by  the  magic  pencil  of  Teniers,  that  one  sees  in  the  Galle- 
ries— a  country  fair  with  singular  groupings  of  peasantry 
in  varied  costumes,  long  rows  of  decorated  booths,  and 
scenes  of  joyousness  everywhere.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
wc  arrived  at  our  halting  plaee  for  the  night;  the  town  of 


BERNE.  163 

Freibourg,  and  found  delightful  quarters  at  the  Ziih ringer 
Hof.  The  situation  of  this  old  town  is  curious  indeed. 
It  is  built  partly  on  the  edge  of  the  precipitous  ravine  of  the 
Saone,  and  partly  in  the  ravine  itself^  so  that  the  people 
in  the  upper  town  look  over  the  chimney-tops  of  their 
neighbors  below.  The  view  from  the  terrace  in  the  rear 
of  our  Hotel,  was  wild  and  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  It 
looked  down  into  the  depths  of  the  ravine,  through  which 
the  yellow  Saone  lazily  wandered — and  along  the  banks  of 
the  stream  were  the  dark  narrow  streets,  and  venerable 
looking  Convents  of  the  old  town.  High  up  on  the  rugged 
cliffs  upon  the  opposite  side,  was  perched,  the  ruin  of  one 
pf  the  old  watch  towers  of  the  middle  ages.  Freibourg  is 
one  of  the  strong  holds  of  the  Jesuits,  and  abounds  in 
Churches  and  Monasteries.  It  was  a  great  source  of  re- 
gret that  we  had  not  an  opportunity  of  hearing  the  famous 
organ,  in  the  old  Cathedral.  The  iron  suspension  bridge 
spanning  the  ravine,  is  a  perfect  miracle  of  architectural 
skill.  Its  length  is  aearly  a  thousand  feet,  and  its  eleva- 
tion from  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  nearly  two  hundred. 
It  is  supported  on  four  cables  of  iron  wire,  each  containing 
more  than  one  thousand  wires,  and  is  said  to  be  capable  of 
supporting  three  times  the  weight  the  bridge  will  ever  be  • 
likely  to  bear.  The  whole  cost  of  the  structure,  was  a 
little  over  one  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

At  noon  the  next  day,  having  taken  an  early  start,  we 
reached  Berne.  This  old  capital,  of  the  largest  of  the 
Swiss  Cantons,  is  a  quaint  looking  town,  with  its  long  low 
arcades  on  both  sides  of  its  principal  thoroughfares.  The 
appearance  of  the  long  narrow  streets,  with  their  venera- 
ble looking  houses  shaded  by  the  wide  overhanging  roofs, 
is  curious  and  picturesque.     The  Bear,  of  whose  name  the 


164  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

word  Berne  is  the  middle  old  German  equivalent,  seems  in 
special  favor  in  the  city.  It  emblazons  the  effigy  of  the 
animal  on  its  arms — and  it  is  constantly  presented  to  the 
eye  on  the  public  buildings,  among  the  figures  of  its  foun- 
tains, and  on  its  coins.  In  the  Bilren  graben,  a  ditch 
outside  the  city  walls,  it  maintains  several  of  these  animals 
at  the  public  expense.-  Berne  is  remarkable  for  its  curious 
fountains.  There  is  one  in  the  Corn  House  Square  called 
the  Ogre,  of  very  singular  design.  It  represents  a  huge 
giant  devouring  a  child,  while  a  number  ready  to  be  de- 
voured, are  to  be  seen  peeping  from  his  pockets.  On  a 
fountain  in  the  street  of  Justice,  the  Canton  is  repre- 
sented in  a  military  attitude  by  a  bear  in  knightly  armor, 
with  sword  and  belt,  holding  the  banner  of  the  Canton  in 
his  paw.  Another  fountain  has  a  bear  attending  a  cross 
bowman  in  the  capacity  of  squire.  The  Minster  is  a  fine 
old  building  of  Gothic  architecture,  and  was  built  in  the 
early  part  of  the  fifteenth  century.  But  let  no  one  visit 
Berne  without  hearing  the  tones  of  its  wondrous  organ,  in 
this  same  Cathedral.  Its  imitations  of  a  storm,  the  patter- 
ing of  hail,  the  howling  of  the  blast,  and  the  deep  roar  of 
thunder,  are  perfectly  wonderful.  Its  mimicry  of  the 
human  voice  is  most  surprisingly  natural.  The  evening 
we  visited  the  Cathedral,  some  devotional  music  was  im- 
pressively performed.  Listening  to  the  rich  tones  now 
subdued,  and  now  so  powerful  that  it  seemed  to  fill  the 
huge  pillared  aisles  of  the  old  Cathedral  with  sound ;  one 
could  not  help  recalling  these  lines : 

"When  beneath  the  nave 
High  arching,  the  Cathedral  organ  'gin» 
Its  prelude,  lingeringly  exquisite, 
Within  retired  the  bashful  sweetness  dwells,' 
Anon  like  sunlight,  or  the  floodgates  rush 


BASLE.  165 

Of  waters  bursts  it  forth,  clear,  solemn,  full. 
It  bueaks  upon  the  massive  fretted  roof, 
It  coils  up  round  the  clustering  pillars  tall, 
It  leaps  into  the  cell-like  chapels,  strikes 
Beneath  the  pavement  sepulchres;  at  once 
The  living  temple  is  instinct,  ablaze 
With  the  uncontrolled  exuberance  of  sound." 

The  great  charm,  however,  of  Berne,  as  Murray  well 
remarks,  is  the  grand  view  of  the  Bernese  Alps,  which  is 
afforded  from  almost  any  part  of  the  town,  and  every  emi- 
nence around  it.  On  the  Platform,  which  is  quite  a  lofty 
terrace  near  the  Cathedral,  and  a  favorite  afternoon  lounge 
of  the  inhabitants,  six  of  the  snowy  peaks  may  be  counted 
along  the  horizon,  on  a  clear  day. 

We  left  Berne  for  Basle  the  next  morning  by  the  diligence. 
The  road  between  these  two  cities,  abounds  in  charming 
scenery.  We  passed  several  ruined  Castles  perched  high 
upon  the  crags  of  the  range  of  mountains  skirting  the  road. 
One  of  them,  the  ruined  Castle  of  Falkenstein,  excited  in- 
terest, from  its  once  having  been  the  residence  of  Rudolph, 
Von  Wart.  His  story  is  worth  chronicling,  as  it  is  a  story 
of  woman's  devotion.  Wart  had  been  unfortunate  enough 
to  have  been  one  of  the  conspirators  against  Albert,  of 
Hungary,  and  assisted  at  his  assassination.  He  was  cap- 
tured by  the  infuriated  daughter  of  the  murdered  Prince. 
She  had  already  manifested  her  cruel  disposition  by  the 
wholesale  slaughter  of  some  sixty,  who  were  supposed  to 
have  been  concerned  in  the  conspiracy^ — exclaiming  as 
their  blood  flowed  round  her  in  torrents,  "now  do  my 
spirits  bathe  in  May-dew."  Wart  she  condemned  to  be 
broken  alive  upon  the  wheel,  and  by  particular  request  of 
the  infuriated  woman,  without  the  death  blow,  which  after 
ft  few  hours,  was  always  given  to  pui  an  end  to  the  toriuje. 


166  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

For  three  days  and  nights,  with  all  his  limbs  broken,  the 
poor  victim  lay  stretched  upon  the  cruel  wheel — and  when 
night  came,  his  devoted  wife  eluding  the  vigilance  of  the 
guards,  would  find  her  way  to  his  side,  to  cool  the  fevered 
and  agonized  brow  of  the  sufferer,  and  administer  reli- 
gious consolation.  In  the  day  time  she  hid  herself  in[the 
thickets  near  by,  where  she  prayed  that  the  next  night  she 
might  find  him  dead ;  but  for  three  long  nights  she  was 
destined  to  witness  his  agony,  as  it  was  not  until  the 
fourth  morning  that  he  died. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  we  reached  Basle,  and 
found  most  excellent  quarters  at  the  Inn  of  the  Three 
Kings.  It  is  an  Inn  of  old  renown,  for  in  an  ancient  book 
in  the  Library  at  Basle,  printed  in  1680,  the  writer  says — 
"  at  Basle  lodge  at  the  Three  Kings,  where  you  will  be 
most  sumptuously  entertained." 

The  town  of  Basle  contains  some  thirty  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, and  is  divided  by  the  Rhine,  which  flows  through 
it,  into  Great  Basle,  and  Little  Basle.  There  are  many 
quaint  old  streets,  and  strange  Burgundian  looking  houses, 
with  their  curious  staircases,  and  overhanging  gables.  The 
Rathaus  in  the  market  place,  answering  to  our  Town  Hall^ 
is  an  ancient  structure,  built  in  the  early  part  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  and  on  its  frieze  displays  the  arms  of  the 
three  primitive  Swiss  Cantons.  There  is  nothing  in  the 
Museum  worthy  of  interest,  except  a  few  paintings  of  the 
elder  Holbein,  and  a  portrait  of  Erasmus  by  this  artist. 
They  also  show  here  a  curious  memorial  of  the  local  feuds 
of  the  place,  in  the  Lalenkcinig,  a  Saracenic  looking  head 
with  the  tongue  lolling  from  the  mouth.  The  story  of  its 
origin  is  a  singular  one.  When  that  part  of  the  city,  which 
is  known  as  Great  Basle,  was  besieged  by  the  Suabians, 


BASLE4  167 

the  people  of  Little  Basle,  agreed  to  assist  the  besiegers — 
and  the  signal  of  the  joint  attack  was  to  be  the  striking  of 
twelve  by  the  Cathedral  clock  in  Great  Basle.  The  wary 
burghers  of  Great  Basle  having  been  informed  of  the  plot, 
advanced  tlie  clock  one  hour,  and  made  it  strike  one  in- 
stead of  twelve.  The  plotters  of  Little  Basle,  disconcerted 
by  this  stratagem  supposed  they  had  dozed  away  an  hour. 
In  commemoration  of  this,  and  in  derision  of  the  people  of 
Little  Basle — this  head,  now  to  be  seen  in  the  Museum, 
was  carved  and  placed  facing  their  town,  and  whenever 
the  clock  struck  the  hour  of  twelve,  the  tongue  lolled  out 
of  the  mouth  derisively  at  the  citizens  over  the  river.  But 
the  people  of  Little  Basle  were  not  willing  to  stand  such 
an  insult  without  retaliation,  so  they  erected  a  figure  on 
their  side,  which  at  the  hour  of  twelve,,  turned  its  back  to 
the  Lalenkonig,  with  an  insulting  Indian  gesture. 

The  Minster,  or  Cathedral,  occupies  a  prominent  place 
among  the  architectural  lions  of  Basle.  It  is  of  red  sand- 
stone, and  with  its  two  antique  looking  towers  presents  a 
very  venerable  appearance.  It  dates  back  to  the  eleventh 
century.  It  was  in  this  building  the  celebrated  Eccle- 
siastical Council  of  the  fifteenth  century  held  its  delib- 
erations. The  structure  was  undergoing  repairs  at  the 
time  of  our  visit,  so  we  had  not  an  opportunity  of  examin- 
ing its  interior. 

Basle  is  the  capital  of  the  Canton  of  Basle-town.  Swit- 
zerland contains  twenty-two  Cantons,  forming  some  twenty- 
four  States,  independent  of  each  other,  resembling  in  their 
legislative  powers  and  duties,  in  some  respects,  our  own 
government,  joined  in  a  federal  compact  for  the  common 
support.  These  Cantons  have,  for  the  most  part,  a  mixed 
democratic  and  aristocratic  government — Freibourg  and 


168  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Berne  I  believe,  admitting  privileged  classes.  The  people 
of  Switzerland  have  been  very  much  extolled  for  courage, 
probity,  great  simplicity  of  manners,  and  wonderful  attach- 
ment for  home.  But  as  they  have  deviated  more  and 
more  from  their  agricultural  and  pastoral  state,  these 
qualities  appear  to  have  become  obliterated.  Great  revo- 
lutions have  rounded  off  the  salient  parts  of  the  Swiss  cha- 
racter, and  we  might  of  them  repeat  GoldsmitVs  lines, 

"  Some  sterner  virtues  o'er  the  mountain's  brea8t, 

May  sit  like  falcons  cowering  on  the  nest: 

But  all  the  gentler  morals,  such  as  play 

Through  life's  uncultured  walk,  and  charm  the  way, 

These — far  dispersed  on  timorous  pinions  fly 

To  sport  and  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky." 

Switzerland  hemmed  in  by  despotisms,  only  preserves  a 
kind  of  resemblance  to  liberal  and  free  institutions.  She 
often  trembles  for  her  own  safety,  and  is  compelled  to 
acquiesce  in  any  line  of  policy,  whether  antagonistic  to 
liberty  or  not,  that  secures  her  own  permanency. 

At  noon  of  the  next  day  after  our  arrival  at  Basle,  we 
left  by  railway  for  Strasburg,  where  we  arrived  about 
sunset. 

Strasburg  is  a  powerful  frontier  fortress  of  France, 
situated  on  the  He,  which  intersects  the  town  in  all  direc- 
tions. The  streets  are  mostly  narrow,  and  the  houses 
high,  while  on  every  side  you  see  the  traces  of  an  Imperial 
German  town,  which  Strasburg  yet  preserves,  although  it 
has  been  united  to  France  for  more  than  two  centuries. 
The  first  morning  of  our  arrival  we  visited  the  far-famed 
Minster.  When  viewed  at  a  distance,  the  light  and 
elegant  spire  thrust  like  a  spear  into  the  clouds,  has  a  very 
singular  appearance,  and  from  some  points  of  view,  where 


STRASBURa.  169 

the  open  work  is  distinctly  seen,  it  looks  like  a  filmy 
painting  against  the  sky,  more  than  like  a  solid  edifice. 
On  approaching  nearer  you  find  it  carved  and  fretted  in 
the  richest  manner,  but  although  aware  that  its  elevation 
must  be  immense,  it  is  not  until  you  compare  it  with  the 
surrounding  buildings  that  you  can  believe  it  to  be  higher 
than  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome.  The  exterior 
being  of  red  sand  stone  has  not  a  very  pleasing  appearance, 
but  the  rich  and  quaint  carvings  over  the  grand  portal 
are  of  great  beauty.  The  interior  is  indeed  magnificent. 
The  long  avenue  of  clustered  columns,  the  curious  and  ela- 
borate tracery  of  the  high  and  vaulted  roof,  the  gorgeous 
coloring  of  the  painted  glass  of  the  noble  windows,  the 
grand  sculptures  of  the  magnificent  pulpit  in  the  centre  of 
the  nave,  all  combine  to  form  a  most  perfect  picture,  and 
give  one  the  fullest  conception  of  what  a  Cathedral  ought 
to  be.  The  Protestant  Church  of  St.  Thomas  is  also  worth 
a  visit,  if  only  to  see  a  beautiful  monument,  erected  to 
the  memory  of  Marshal  Sase.  Of  the  monuments  I  have 
yet  seen,  this  surpasses  all  in  its  singular  appropriateness 
and  beauty.  Every  point  is  excellent,  and  you  would  not 
add  to,  or  take  away  a  single  portion  of  it.  A  most  ad- 
mirably executed  full  len^h  figure  of  the  Marshal  is 
represented  about  descending  a  flight  of  marble  steps;  at 
the  foot  rests  a  sarcophagus  with  the  lid  partially  removed; 
a  draped  figure  of  Death,  terrible  in  its  conception,  is  re- 
moving the  lid  with  the  skeleton  fingers  of  one  hand, 
while  the -other  extends  towards  the  hero  a  spent  hour- 
glass. A  beautiful  female  figure,  (emblematic  of  France), 
with  the  most  intense  agony  depicted  on  her  exquisite 
features,  is  endeavoring  with  one  hand  to  stay  the  descent 
of  the  Marshal,  towards  the  open  tomb,  while  with  the 
P 


170  FOJKEIQN<:ETCHINGS. 

other  sbe  appears  pleading  with  the  grim  spectre  beneatli 
for  a  longer  forbearance.  The  three  principal  figures  of 
the  group,  are  a  perfect  study.  The  cool,  heroic,  and 
determined  countenance  of  the  Marshal,  -with  a  slight 
shade  of  sadness  on  the  noble  brow — the  intense  and  shud- 
dering agony  of  France,  who  feels  that  she  is  about  to 
lose  her  greatest  hero — the  horrid  grin  of  the  spectre 
Death,  who  seems  to  exult  in  the  prospect  of  so  distin- 
guished a  victim,  arc  faultless.  There  are  other  figures  in 
the  group,  such  as  a  lion  striking  down  a  leopard,  and 
a  most  superbly  sculptured  Hercules,  with  his  lion  skin 
about  his  shoulders,  leaning  in  deep  grief  upon  his  club ; 
but  the  three  principal  figures  absorb  all  your  attention, 
and  the  others  are  lost  sight  of.  On  leaving  the  Church, 
in  a  small  chamber  near  the  entrance  door,  we  were 
shown  in  cases  covered  with  glass,  the  bodies  of  a  Count  of 
Nassau,  and  his  daughter,  who  had  been  dead  for  four 
hundred  years.  The  body  of  the  Count  is  in  a  most  re- 
markable state  of  .preservation;  the  face  quite  full,  and  the 
features  perfect.  The  body  of  the  daughter  is  not  so  well 
preserved;  the  skull  and  face  of  the  last  are  almost  reduced 
to  fine  powder,  but  the  hands  quite  perfect,  while  the  long 
tapering  fingers  are  covered  with  the  rings  she  wore  at  her 
burial ;  a  singular  head  dress  of  flowers,  still  croWns  the 
crumbling  skull.  In  the  neighborhood  of  such  objects  a 
strange  mysterious  feeling  lays  you  under  a  spell.  By  a 
sort  of  process  of  transfusion,  the  vital  principle  that  de- 
parted from  the  silent  forms  before  you,  seems  to  have 
passed  into  an  abstract  figure.  Life  is  deaths  but  death  is 
alive,  and  you  breathe,  look,  tread  and  whisper,  as  if  you 
were  in  the  actual,  though  invisible  presenoe. 

Lingering  two  or  three  days  in  Strasburg,  we  left  it  for 


BAF 

the  far-famed  watering-place,  BaderSSSftSBr^^lae  town  of 
Baden  is  not  a  place  one  would  travel  far  to  see.  It  has, 
however,  a  thousand  circumjacent  attractions,  not  to  speak 
of  its  subterranean  one — the  hot  water,  boiled  in  nature's 
own  tea  kettle,  for  the  restoration  of  the  halt,  maimed  and 
blind,  and  for  the  delectation  of  those  who  like  it;  but  it 
has  a  marvellous  resemblance  to  very  weak  chicken  broth. 
The  town  of  Baden  is  situated  partly  on  the  side  of  a  hill, 
and  partly  in  a  valley,  watered  by  the  little  narrow  stream  of 
the  Oosbach,  which  wanders  through  it  in  a  sluggish  current. 
The  nearer  hills  are  covered  with  beeches  and  vineyards, - 
while  the  more  distant  summits  are  fringed  with  dark  firs, 
forming  a.  striking  frame- work  to  the  natural  picture.  The 
principal  hot  spring  rises  in  a  hollow  Tock,  near  the  Trinh- 
Tialle  —  a  little  door  opens  into  a  place  like  a  cellar,  and 
looking  in,  your  curiosity  may  be  gratified  by  seeing  a 
cloud  of  vapor,  and  hearing  the  bubbling  of  the  water 
produced  at  this  spot,  at  the  rate  of  seven  millions  of  cubic 
inches  in  a  day.  Besides  the  Trinkliallej  which  is  a  magni- 
ficent building,  with  some  very  ill-executed  frescoes  illus- 
trating the  traditions  of  Baden  and  vicinity,  and  a  portico 
supported  by  twelve  very  fine  Corinthian  pillars:  there  is 
the  Conversationshaus,  a  vast  edifice,  with  a  handsome 
facade  of  Corinthian  columns — comprising,  in  addition 
to  the  principal  saloon,  which  is  a  magnificent  chamber, 
the  Hall  of  Flowers,  so  called  from  its  being  tastefully 
ornamented  with  artificial  flowers  from  ceiling  to  floor,  and 
two  very  spacious  drawing  rooms  most  superbly  furnished. 
The  Hall  of  Flowers  on  a  ball-night,  when  its  magnifi- 
cent mirrors  reflect  back  the  blaze  of  gas  light  from  its 
four  immense  chandeliers,  looks  like  the  chamber  of  some 
fairy  palace.     It  is  in  the  large  Hall  for  promenading,  and 


172  rORElQN  ETCHINGS. 

the  one  adjoining  it,  that  the  gambling  tables  attract  their 
victims.  From  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  until  a  late 
hour  in  the  night,  you  will  find  these  tables  crowded  with 
both  sexes  and  all  ages.  Sunday  is  a  great  day  for  the 
gamblers.  Then,  these  tables  are  thronged  in  rows  two  or 
three  deep,  with  an  excited  crowd;  and  there  you  may' ob- 
serve fair  faces  of  women  lit  up  with  the  excitement  of  suc- 
cess, or  saddened  by  disappointment :  fair  hands  clutching 
the  golden  pile  as  it  is  scored,  or  fingering  restlessly  that 
which  is  fast  diminishing.  It  is  bad  enough  when  the 
gentler  sex  are  represented  at  these  tables,  by  those  whose 
blanched  locks  and  wrinkled  features  are  no  earnests  that 
advancing  age  has  dulled  the  fever  of  this  wretched  excite- 
ment in  their  veins,  but  when  youth  and  beauty  takes  its 
place  in  the  list,  to  stand  "  the  hazard  of  the  die,"  you 
long  to  whisper  the  note  of  warning  in  the  ear  of  the 
giddy  creature,  begging  her  to  shun  a  temptation  which 
only  leads  to  misery,  and  whose  pursuit  most  certainly 
tends  to  dry  up  all  the  nobler,  finer  feelings  of  the  soul. 

The  next  morning  after  our  arrival,  we  started  to  visit 
the  old  Castle  of  Baden,  located  on  one  of  the  loftiest  hills 
overlooking  the  town.  Thanks  to  the  liberality  of  the 
young  Grand  Duke,  a  fine  carriage  way  has  been  con- 
structed, winding  gradually  up  to  the  ruin,  with  pleasant 
seats  and  bowers  along  the  entire  road.  We  passed  some 
most  delightful  shady  recesses  in  the  fine  woods  that  cover 
the  hill-side.  One  charming  retreat  looked  as  if  it  might 
have  been  the  tiny  theatre 

"Where  elves  had  acted  plays,  such  as  they  took 
From  the  fond  legends  of  old  fairy  book. 
Their  'tiring  room,  beneath  these  hollows  green, 
While  clustering  glow  worms  lighted  up  the  scene, 
Their  orchestra,  these  happy  bows  which  shook 
With  music,  such  as  lulls  the  gentle  brook." 


BADEN.  173 

The  old  ruin  is  about  two  miles  from  the  town,  upon  a 
very  lofty  elevation,  in  the  midst  of  a  forest  of  pines,  oaks, 
elms,  and  beeches.  This  truly  magnificent  pile  reposes  in 
death-like  tranquility.  From  the  vast  extent  of  the  en- 
closure and  loftiness  of  the  remaining  towers,  you  are 
impressed  with  the-  same  mixture  of  awe  and  curiosity,  you 
would  feel  on  meeting  with  the  bones  of  a  giant  upon  some 
lofty  mountain  top.  The  view  from  the  summit  of  the 
keep  of  the  old  Castle  is  superb.  Looking  in  the  direction 
of  Baden,  you  have  the  town  with  its  quaint  roofs, 
some  two  thousand  feet  below,  while  the  lofty  hills  beyond 
covered  with  the  dense  masses  of  the  Black  Forest  form  a 
most  enchanting  back-ground  to  the  picture.  On  your 
right,  the  rich  smooth  plains  of  the  Rhine,  covered  with 
villages  fade  away  in  the  extreme  distance  to  a  haze,  in 
the  midst  of  which^  the  shadowy  outline  of  the  spire  of 
the  Strasburg  Cathedral,  thirty  miles  away,  may  be  seen. 
The  mountains  behind,  the  forests  around,  the  enchanting 
valleys,  the  wild  ravines,  and  fertile  plains,  form  a  picture 
which  lingers  in  the  memory  long  after  you  have  turned 
from  it  with  unwilling  feet.  This  old  Castle  has  never 
been  repaired  since  it  was  set  on  fire  by  Marshal  Turenne, 
during  his  memorable  ravage  of  the  Palatinate. 

On  descending  from  our  pleasant  visit  to  the  old  ruin, 
we  stopped  at  the  new  Castle,  at  present  occupied  by  the 
reigning  Grand  Duke.  It  is  not  remarkable  for  its  archi- 
tecture, but  commands  very  noble  views  of  the  surrounding 
country.  Near  it  is  a  Convent,  the  walls  of  which  are 
built  against  a  rock.  As  we  passed  in,  the  sweet  voices 
of  the  nuns  singing  sacred  hymns,  were  borne  to  us  on  the 
breeze.  But  the  most  remarkable  thing  about  this  Castle, 
is  the  number  of  subterranean  vaults  it  contains;  the 
p2.. 


174  BOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

object  and  origin  of  which  have  been  the  subject  of  much 
speculation.  You  enter  them  by  a  fine  winding  staircase. 
This  staircase  conducts  to  a  large  vaulted  chamber,  which 
receives  light  through  windows  pierced  in  the  upper  part 
of  the  wall.  From  thence  you  enter  an  apartment  con- 
taining the  remains  of  Roman  Baths.  That  this  part 
of  the  Castle  was  the  work  of  the  Romans,  there  is  no 
doubt  J  but  the  destination  of  the  horrid  dungeons  to  which 
the  Bath  Room  leads,  has  been  the  object  of  much  conjec- 
ture. It  is  generally  supposed,  that  these  dungeons  were 
not  constructed  by  the  Romans,  but  by  the  Germans  ;  and 
that  they  are  several  centuries  older  that  the  Castle  erected 
over  them.  The  most  probable  hypothesis  seems  to  be, 
that  they  are  the*  dungeons  used  by  the  awful  Secret  Tri- 
bunal. From  the  ante-chamber,  containing  stone  reservoirs 
adjoining  the  Roman  Baths,  you  enter  a  place  where  you 
must  bid  farewell  to  the  light  of  day.  The  guide  conducts 
you  with  a  candle,  and  indeed  this  precaution  is  necessary, 
as  the  passage  is  any  thing  but  commodious,  and  presents 
dangers  even  to  those  who  are  sure  footed.  There  you 
behold  cells  in  which  the  victims  of  cruelty  and  injustice 
languished  in  eternal  darkness  and  solitude.  Six  of  these 
dungeons  excavated  in  the  rock,  succeed  each  other  in  a 
long  dreary  passage,  closed  by  a  door  made  of  a  single  stone 
two  feet  thick.  The  noise  made  by  this  awful  door  turning 
on  its  hinges,  is  enough  to  make  your  hair  stand  erect  with 
horror.  After  passing  through  several  galleries  of  equal 
dimensions,  you  enter  the  Chamber  of  Torture.  The  rings 
in  the  solid  rock,  and  the  partial  remains  of  the  dreaded 
rack,  leave  no  doubt  as  to  the  object  and  purpose  to  which 
this  room  was  appropriated.  Near  this  is  a  large  vaulted 
chamber,  surrounded  by  the  stone  seats  once  occupied  by 


HEIDELBERG.  175 

the  awful  Judges  of  the  Secret  Tribunal;  while  upon  the 
right  of  the  entrance  is  the  deep  vault,  over  which  was 
the  trap,  where  the  poor  victim  was  ordered  to  kneel 
to  pray  to  the  Virgin,  (whose  figure  occupied  the  niche, 
still  to  be  seen  above),  when  he  was  precipitated  two 
hundred  feet  below,  upon  the  sharp  knives  at  the  bottom. 
A  few  years  ago  this  vault  was  examined,  and  many  bones 
were  found,  with  shreds  of  clothing  still  sticking  to  the 
knives.  What  fiendish  contrivances  for  exercising  their 
vengeance  the  men  of  the  olden  time  resorted  to,  and  how 
much  diabolical  ingenuity  did  they  manifest. 

From  Baden  we  rode  to  Heidelberg.  One  cannot  but  be 
charmed  with  the  truly  romantic  and  delightful  situation 
of  this  celebrated  town.  It  is  surrounded  by  an  amphi- 
theatre of  mountains,  and  lies  partly  along  the  narrow 
valley  through  which  flows  the  Neckar,  and  partly  up  the 
acclivity  of  a  lofty  hill,  which  rises  behind  the  town,  clothed 
to  the  summit  with  the  richest  green,  and  finely  wooded, 
bearing  on  its  side  about  half  way  up,  the  impressive  ruins 
of  the  magnificent  and  far-famed  Castle.  Few  cities  have 
suffered  more  from  the  horrors  of  civil  war,  than  Heidel- 
berg. During  the  seventeenth  century,  it  was  again,  and 
again  sacked,  burnt  and  partly  destroyed.  War  has  indeed 
passed  heavily  over  all  Germany,  and  its  blood-stained 
footsteps  are  traceable  every  where.  The  French,  of  all 
other  nations,  seem  to  have  carried  (as  they  ever  do)  atro- 
city to  the  highest  pitch,  and  to  be  known  in  this  country, 
only  through  the  smoke  of  battle  fields  and  burning  towns. 

Early  the  next  morning  after  our  arrival,  we  rode  up  to 
the  celebrated  ruins  of  the  Castle  by  the  winding  way  that 
leads  by  Wolfsbrunnen,  catching  very  glorious  views  of 
the  charming  scenes  of  the  valley  beneath  as  we  ascended. 
In  the  wars  with  Louis  XIV.,  which  laid  waste  the  Palati- 


176  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

natc  with  fire  and  sword,  and  caused  it  to  blaze  with  the 
flames  of  twenty-one  villages  in  a  single  day,  the  destruc- 
tion of  this  noble  Castle  took  place,  which  left  it  the  ruin 
we  now  see  it.  Its  situation  is  very  commanding  in  a  recess 
formed  by  mountains.  From  the  front  terrace  there  is  a 
very  extensive  view,  which  comprises  the  town  itself,  the 
tasteful  gardens,  arbors,  and  vineyards  on  the  opposite 
hills,  while  the  Neckar  winds  in  its  course  below  to  join 
the  Rhine  at  Manheim,  which  city  is  just  visible  in  the 
dim  and  shadowy  distance.  The  outworks  of  this  fortress 
Castle  with  its  towers^  ditches,  and  entrance  gates,  bear 
various  emblems  of  chivalry  and  war  belonging  to  by-gone 
times.  In  one  spot  is  a  huge  round  tower,  whose  ponderous 
mass  lies  torn  from  its  foundation,  reclining  its  immense 
burden  on  the  earth,  having  been  blown  up  by  the  French, 
and  testifying  by  its  vast  ruin  how  much  more  destructive 
is  the  rude  shock  of  war^  than  the  silently  mouldering  hand 
of  time.  The  grand  destroyer  is  indeed  universal  in  his 
operations,  but  he  takes  ages  to  do  his  work,  while  war 
leaves  in  its  train  ruins  resembling  the  desolations  of  the 
earthquake. 

The  central  part  of  this  Palace  Castle,  where  the  Elec- 
tors of  the  Palatinate  resided,  and  held  their  Court,  is  a 
remnant  of  most  exquisite  ornamental  workmanship;  and 
in  the  days  of  its  glory,  must  have  been  a  superb  monu- 
ment of  the  magnificence  of  the  German  potentates.  In 
the  Hall  of  the  Knights,  which  still  remains,  we  saw  many 
interesting  relics  of  the  days  of  chivalry ;  and  in  the 
gloomy  chapel,  which  has  also  escaped,  in  some  degree, 
the  general  wreck,  was  the  figure  of  a  monk  in  wood, 
sitting  in  his  confessional,  clothed  in  the  dress  of  his  order, 
and  80  well  executed  as  at  first  sight  to  startle  the  beholder 


HEIDELBERG.  177 

with  all  the  effect  of  real  life.  These  ruins  are  considered 
the  finest  in  this  land  of  feudal  remains.  But  I  do  not 
think  the  interest  they  excite  is  at  all  comparable  with 
that  produced  by  the  ruins  of  Kenilworth — they  do  not 
come  home  to  you  with  that  startling  force  of  association, 
awakened  by  the  sight  of  the  ruined  and  dismantled  halls 
of  the  English  Castle. 

The  Castle  of  Heidelberg  has  not  suffqired  merely  by 
war,  still  less  by  time,  but  the  elements  have  conspired 
to  scathe  itinto  the  mere  skeleton  of  what  it  formerly  was. 
It  has  been  repeatedly  struck  by  lightning.  The  deso- 
late grass-grown  area,  the  noble  facades  which  are  now 
bare  walls  adorned  with  sculptured  and  heraldric  arms, 
form  an  impressive  contrast  with  what  fancy  pictures  of 
the  mirth  and  minstrelsy  that  once  held  high  revel  here. 

"We  lingered  long  upon  the  stone  terrace  that  overlooks 
the  city,  with  its  long  straggling  street,  filled  with  market 
girls  in  their  white  kerchiefs,  and  baskets  piled  up  with 
fruit.  Kight  in  front  was  the  far-reaching  valley,  with  the 
vineyards  looking  so  near  you  could  almost  distinguish  the 
purple  grapes,  clustering  on  the  hill  side  vines — and  listen ! 
in  the  stillness  of  the  morning  you  can  catch  the  rippling 
murmur,  that  steals  up  through  the  overhanging  beech 
woods — it  is  the  song  of  the  Neckar,  its  sweet  glad  song ; 
for  the  Neckar  is  on  its  way  to  meet  the  Rhine,  and  the 
Rhine  is  near  at  hand.  Behind  us  rises  a  huge  pile  of 
sculptured  and  embattled  walls,  a  very  chaos  of  ruin, 
scathed  by  lightning,  blackened  by  fire,  sapped  by  leaguer 
and  storm — Fate^s  pitiless  "In  memoriam'*  over  great 
destinies  and  mad  ambitions.  Tread  reverently  these  courts ; 
as  you  would  tread  the  vaults  of  a  sepulchre,  with  the 
dead  around.     Hark  !  how  the  gaunt  trees  looking  through 


178 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


the  rifted  oriels^  mutter  their  grand  memories  to  each  other. 
See !  along  the  east  front,  lialf-hidden  by  the  ivy,  are  lat- 
tices of  the  old  banqueting  hall, 

"In  the  empty  window  panes 
Horror  reigns." 

If  you  were  to  enter  that  Hall  at  the  witching  hour  of 
night,  3^ou  might  chance  to  hear  strange  sounds;  the 
uproar  of  wassail,  laughter,  and  stormy  shouting;  the 
gurgling  of  the  amber  wine,  and  the  blended  harmony  of 
harp  and  lute :  you  might  even  see  shapes,  if  you  were 
strong  of  heart — the  shapes  of  Palatines,  Princes  and 
Bishops,  and  a  woman's  shape  above  all,  pale  but  heroic  — 
the  daughter  of  a  Stuart ;  the  grand  daughter  of  the  un* 
fortunate  Queen  of  Scots. 

"  'Tis  a  face  with  queenly  eyes. 
And  a  front  of  constancies," 

There  is  a  little  hand  outstretched  reaching  forward,' 
forever  forward  towards  the  fatal  phantasm  of  a  crown. 
You  would  see  that  phantasm  lure  her  on  :  you  would  see 
her  follow  it  with  all  her  retinue;  "a  goodly  array  and 
strong,"  follow  it  over  wild  tracks  and  hostile  provinces, 
over  mountains  and  through  forests  to  the  foretold  scene 
of  empire ;  and  then  after  a  pause,  your  ear  would  catch 
faint  and  far,  the  clash  and  tumult  of  stricken  fields,  of 
cities  taken  and  re-taken,  sounds  of  hope,  triumph  and 
despair;  and  last  of  all,  loud,  awful,  shrill,  cleaving  its 
way  through  space  and  time,  and  echoing  and  re-echoing 
through  the  chambers  of  that  deserted  house,  a  solitary 
trumpet  blast,  a  very  agony  of  sound,  like  the  wail  of 
some  lost  soul  in  final  ruin  and  discomfiture. 

So  entirely  has  nature  resumed  her  sway  in  the  precincts 
of  this  ruined  Castle,  that  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  its  ever 


MAYENCE.  179 

Having  been  tlie  scene  of  savage  and  sanguinary  warfare. 
With  the  song  of  the  bird  in  your  ear,  and  the  blue  flowers 
purpling  the  turf  at  your  feet,  you  strive  in  vain  to  realize 
the  thunder  of  Tilly's  batteries,  or  the  rush  of  French 
batallions  through  the  imminent  deadly  breach;  and  yet 
ten  times  has  this  paradise  been  made  a  pandemonium  by 
the  deviltry  of  war  —  ten  times  have  the  breaches  been 
opened,  the  mines  sprung,  the  woods  mowed  down,  the 
summer  gardens  marred,  and  lo!  the  forgiveness  of  Nature. 
The  ruinous  strife  once  ended^  her  gentle  work  of  healing 
begins — over  the  shattered  wall  she  trains  her  ivy  — 
along  the  trampled  sod  her  mosses  creep — with  her  earth 
she  covers  the  slain,  and  with  her  holy  silence  she  hushes 
the  discord  both  of  victory  and  defeat.  Not  a  wound, 
but  she  sears  over ;  not  a  wreck,  but  her  art  makes  grace- 
ful :  silently,  but  ceaselessly  her  work  goes  on,  until  at 
length  she  triumphs  in  a  Paradise  regained.  But  a  truce 
to  sentiment,  —  let  us  descend  from  the  airy  regions  of  the 
poetic  to  the  prosaic.  Upon  our  returning  to  the  town,  we 
found  that  in  lingering  so  long  among  the  ruins,  we  should 
not  have  time  to  see  the  famous  University,  and  we  were 
forced  reluctantly  to  hurry  to  the  railway  station,  to  take 
the  cars  for  Mayence,  where  we  arrived  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  evening. 

The  town  of  Mayence  occupies  an  elevated  site  in  a  rich 
fertile  country,  opposite  the  confluence  of  the  Rhine  and 
Mein.  The  surrounding  hills,  which  form  a  vast  amphi- 
theatre, produce  a  Rhine  wine  that  is  in  great  demand. 
The  town  was  once  a  Roman  station,  as  almost  every  town 
on  the  Rhine  has  been.  Its  Cathedral  is  worth  a  visit — 
filled  with  some  very  exquisite  monuments  of  Bishops  and 
Archbishops,  and  containing  many  splendid  chapels — but 


180  POREIGIJ  ETCHINGS. 

the  monument  1;liat in tere^d  me  most  of  all,  was  the  monu- 
ment to  the  last  of  the  Troubadours,  Heinrich  Von  Meis- 
sen, with  whose  history  I  was  familiar,  and  who  was  borne 
to  his  grave  upon  the  fair  shoulders  of  the  noblest  ladies 
of  Mayence,  and  over  whose  coffin  they  poured  libations  of 
wine: 

"Sad  o'er  the  flower-strown  coffin 

They  cast  their  garlands  fair  ; 

The  plume-crowned  bier,  which  Slowly 

Eight  noble  ladies  bear. 

They  bear  it  on  with  music 

And  weeping  to  the  shrine ; 

And  from  the  golden  censors 

They  pour  the  sacred  wine." 

Von  Meissen  was  one  of  those  warrior  poets  wbose 
names  are  connected  with  all  that  is  lovely  and  amiable 
in  song — one  who  wreathed  the  graces  of  melody  round 
proud  and  warlike  spirits,  and  gradually  softened  down 
and  refined  them  into  all  that  was  gentle,  kind,  and  social 
in  human  nature.  Let  others  dwell  on  the  high  doings 
of  statesmen  and  warriors;  I  love  to  contemplate  the 
quiet  peaceful  walk  of  those  great  benefactors  of  their  i-ace, 
who  scattered  abroad  in  the  path  of  every-day  life,  some 
of  the  sweetest  flowers  of  poetry  and  song.  Centuries 
have  rolled  away  since  libations  of  wine  were  poured  by 
fair  hands,  over  the  minstrel's  tomb — empires  have  been 
lost  and  won ;  kingdoms  blotted  out  from  the  map  of  na- 
tions, and  the  proud  spirits  of  earth  laid  low,  and  their 
very  names  forgotten ;  but  time  has  spared  this  gentler 
record,  and  the  memory  of  the  humble  Troubadour-poet  is 
still  a  treasured  thing  with  the  good  people  of  his  native 
city,  and  consecrates  the  tomb  beneath  which  his  ashes 
repose.    Long  may  that  memory  exist,  and  deeply  may  it 


MAYENCE.  181 

be  cherished  by- all  who  can  appreciate,  with  true  poetic 
devotion,  the  touching  pathos,  delicacy,  and  grace  with 
which  chivalrous  attributes  were  clothed  by  those  who 
sang  together  in  the  early  dawn  of  refinement  and  poetry. 
Peace  to  the  ashes  of  the  la^t  of  the  Troubadours. 

Mayence  has  an  interest  from  its  having  been  the  cradle 
of  the  art  of  Printing.  It  was  the  birth-place  and  resi- 
dence of  John  Gensfleisch,  called  Guttenberg,  the  inventof 
of  moveable  types..  His  native  city  treasures  his  memory, 
and  about  twenty  years  ago,  a  bronze  statue  by  Thorwald- 
sen,  was  erected  in  one  of  the  squares.  Mayence  belongs 
to  the  Grand  Duke  of  Hesse-l5armstadt.  It  is  the  chief 
and  strongest  fortress  tower  of  the  German  Confederation, 
and  is  garrisoned  by  Prussian  and  Austrian  troops  in  nearly 
equal  proportions. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

PRUSSIA  AND  ITS   CAPITAL. 

The  General  appearance  of  Berlin —  The  Thier  Garten  —  The  Bran- 
denburg Gate  —  The  Unter  den  Linden  —  Statue  of  Frederick 
the  Great. 

Prussia  as  a  nation,  compared  witli  those  that  surround 
her,  has  but  a  modern  origin*  The  name  that  now  attaches 
to  this  powerful  and  prosperous  people,  originally  belonged 
to  a  desolate  district  in  the  north-eastern  angle  of  the  ter- 
ritory now  embraced  by  the  present  kingdom.  In  this 
wild  spot,  a  body  of  Teutonic  adventurers,  who  had  waged 
fierce  fight  with  the  Saracen  for  the  possession  of  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  having  driven  out  the  Pagans  who  infested  it, 
settled  themselves ;  and  in  due  time  waxed  so  powerful,  that 
they  managed  to  play  an  influential  part  for  two  centuries 
in  the  affairs  of  Europe.  At  the  Reformation  this  military 
Brotherhood,  renounced  the  Romish  faith  and  embraced 
the  doctrines  of  Luther.  Soon  after  they  effected  a  treaty 
with  their  feudal  superior,  the  King  of  Poland,  by  which 
their  possessions  were  consolidated  into  an  hereditary 
Duchy  of  Prussia,  and  settled  on  the  Grand  Master  then 
ruling.  That  functionary  was  at  the  time,  Albert  of 
Brandenburg,  a  junior  branch  of  the  House,  whose  memory 
and  great  deeds  are  still  cherished  in  the  modern  kingdom. 
About  the  year  1618,  the  Duchy  was  conveyed  to  the 
eldest  branch  of  the  House  of  Brandenburg.  But  it  was 
not  until  Frederick  William  the  Great  succeeded  to  the 


PRUSSIA  AND  ITS  CAPITAL.  183 

l)ucal  Crown,  sometime  in  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  that  the  Duchy  ceased  to  be  a  feudality  of  Poland. 
The  Revolutions  produced  in  the  Empire,  by  what  is 
known  in  history,  as  "  the  thirty  years'  war,''  enabled  him 
to  -emancipate  his  Duchy  from  the  pretensions  of  Poland, 
and  to  obtain  its  recognition  as  a  sovereign  state,  about 
the  year  1657. 

On  the  18tji  of  January,  1701,  Frederick  I.  placed  a 
royal  crown  on  his  own  head  at  Koningsberg — and  a  King 
of  Prussia  then  for  the  first  time  made  his  appearance  on  the 
field  of  Europe.  Since  that  period  constant  accretions  have 
expanded  the  Kingdom  into  its  .present  bulk.  Signories  — 
counties  —  principalities  —  duchies -^bishoprics  and  pro- 
vinces have  been  gathered  in  from  time  to  time,  proving 
that  annexation  is  by  no  means  a  vice  of  more  modern 
times.  By  these  successive  additions,  and  by  a  policy  in 
some  respects  admirably  adapted  to  the  condition  of  things 
—  a  petty  Dukedom  in  an  obscure  corner  of  Europe,  has 
been  raised  in  the  short  space  of  a  century  and  a  half  to  a 
foremost  rank  among  the  powers  of  the  world. 

The  Kingdom  is  thus,  comparatively  speaking,  a  thing 
of  yesterday,  and  so  is  its  metropolis  Berlin.  As  a  modern 
traveler  remarks,  "  Berlin  has  no  Gothic  Churches  —  no 
narrow  streets,  no  fantastic  gables  —  no  historic  stone  and 
lime  —  no  remnants  of  the  picturesque  ages  recalling  the 
olden  time."  It  is  this  modern  air  about  the  city  that 
first  strikes  the  observer.  Fishermen's  huts  constituted, 
the  nucleus  of  the  future  city  not  many  years  ago. 
In  1590,  its  population  was  but  twelve  thousand.  Under 
the  Fredericks  it  made  rapid  strides — and  by  the  time 
of  Napoleon's  conquest,  it  had  reached  nearly  two  hun- 
dred thousand.    By  the  last  census,  it  is  put  down  at 


184  FOREIGN  ETCHINQS, 

nearly  half  a  million,  giving  it  the  fifth  place  among 
European  Capitals.  And  yet  a  stranger  can  scarcely  realize 
that  it  is  a  city  with  so  great  a  population.  There  is 
nothing  of  the  bustle  and  stir  of- a  great  metropolis  about 
it.  The  current  of  human  life  seems  to  run  as  sluggishly 
along  its  streets,  as  the  lazy  waters  of  its  slothful  river 
Spree.  Foj  an  hour  or  so  during  the  day,  there  is  a  sort 
of  spasmodic  effort  at  activity  and  gaiety  along  the  magnifi- 
cent avenue  of  the  Unter  den  Linden :  biit  that  passed, 
Berlin  relapses  into  the  quiet  and  genteel  air  of  some 
small  provincial  town.  And  yet  with  all  the  general  air 
of  quiet  pervading  the  city,  there  is  .an  activity  and 
energy  in  the  business  quarter,  which  if  it  fails  to  make 
itself  heard  and  seen  to  the  extent  of  other  cities,  has, 
nevertholess  produced  its  certain  sure  effect.  The  energy 
and  skill  of  the  workshops  have  made  Berlin  prosperous 
and  wealthy.  The  huge  chimneys  of  her  factories  which 
produce  her  "locomotives,  her  engines,  her  cloths,  her 
porcelain,  and  the  numerous  articles  of  necessity  ^  and 
luxury  with  which  she  abounds,  manifest  the  business 
energy  and  appliances  that  have  been  steadily  at  work,  in 
effecting  her  rapid  rise  and  development.  These  factories, 
which  crowd  the  sides  of  the  serpentine  River  Spree,  and 
discolor  its  waters,  extend  from  gate  to  gate.  Berlin  is 
the  maker  and  moulder  of  her  own  porcelain.  She  bores 
and  fashions  her  own  artillery  —  she  exhibits  her  skill  and 
taste  in  the  casting  of  those  bronze  statuettes  that  are  the 
admiration  of  the  world;  and  possesses  to  the  full  all  the 
elements  of  a  busy,  thriving  manufacturing  town. 

iPcrlin  occupies  a  large  sandy  plain,  and  is  divided  by 
its  river  Spree  into  two  parts,  whereof  the  part  to  the  north 
and  east  is  the  most  ancient  a\id  irregular,  and  that  to  the 


THIER  GARTEN.  185 

south  and  west  regularly  built,  and  the  seat  of  much  opu- 
lence %nd  taste.     From  the  south  side  of  the  town  you 
enter  by  the  Halliche  Gate.     From  the  circular  area  just 
inside  this  gate,  called  La  belle  Alliance  Platz,  branch  off 
three  of  the  largest  and  finest  streets  in  the  more  modern 
part  of  the  city.     The  street  to  the  left  is  the  Wilhelms 
Strasse.     All  along  it,  the  houses,  are  large  and  stately, 
most  of  them  distinguished  by  arched  entrances.     This 
street  runs  into  and  t<}rminates  in  the  Unter  den  Linden, 
near  the  famous  Brandenburg  Gate.     The  central  street 
with  its  long  vista  immediately  before  you,  is  the  Friederichs 
Strasse,  named  after  the  great  Frederick.     It  is  more  than 
two  English  miles  long,  in  a  perfectly  straight  line,  and 
extends  from  side  to  side,  uniting  the  Halliche  with  the 
Oranienburg  Gate.     The  Linden  Strasse,  which  must  not 
be  confounded  with  the  Unter  den  Linden,  is  the  third 
street  that  branches  off  from  the  Platz,  but  is  not  to  be 
compared  with  either  of  the  others,  although  still  a  hand- 
some street.     Unite  the  termination  of  the  three  streets 
here  described,  and  you  enclose  almost  all  the  fashionable 
part  of  Berlin.     Nearly  all  the  streets  embraced  in  such 
enclosure    are   straight   and  rectangular   to    each  other, 
reminding  one  in  their  general  appearance,  of  those  of 
Philadelphia. 

The  Thier  Garten,  which  lies  just  outside  the  walls  at 
the  western  extremity  of  Berlin,  and  into  which  you  enter 
through  the  magnificent  Brandenburg  Gate,  ornamenting 
that  extremity  of  the  Unter  den  Linden,  may  be  described 
as  an  immense  forest  three  miles  in  length,  and  two  in 
width,  laid  out  into  numerous  fine  avenues  for  carriages 
and  horsemen — while  shady  walks  ornamented  with  floWer 
beds,  and  at  intervals  with  artifiifrial"  lakes,  invite  the  pedes- 


)8G  FOREIGN  ETCHrNGS. 

trian  and  lounger.  Fine  statues  ornament  some  of  tlie 
avenues,  and  in  the  spring,  summer  and  fall,  it  is  the 
favorite  resort  of  the  entire  population.  The  muchlauded 
Tuileries,  or  the  Bois  do  Boulogne,  recently  enlarged  and 
beautified  by  the  present  Emperor  of  the  French,  is  not  to 
be  compared  with  it.  One  might  as  well  institute  a 
comparison  between  Washington  Square,  Philadelphia, 
and  Hyde  Park,  London.  Entering  Berlin  by  the  Char- 
lottenburg  road,  which  runs  directly  through  the  Thier 
Garten,  you  pass  under  the  magnificent  Brandenburg 
Gate^  to  stand  in  the  Pariser  Platz,  which  is  at  the 
bead  of  the  Unter  den  Linden.  This  Gate  certainly  is 
one  of  the  finest  architectural  specimens  of  its  kind  in 
Europe.  It  is  said  to  be  an  imitation  of  the  Propylasum 
at  Athens,  but  on  a  somewhat  larger  scale :  and  certain  it 
is,  that  there  is  nothing  beautiful  in  modern  architecture 
which  does  not  owe  either  directly  or  indirectly,  its  beauty 
to  the  models  that  Grecian  genius  and  taste  erected  for  the 
admiration  and  imitation  of  ages.  The  six  pillars  support 
an  entablature  without  any  pediment ;  a  gateway  not 
arched  passing  between  each  row  of  pillars.  On  the  en- 
tablature is  a  colossal  figure  of  Victory  in  a  chariot  drawn 
by  four  horses,  the  whole  being  constructed  of  copper. 
This  group  is  not  only  pure  and  classical,  but  is  so  placed 
as  to  give  an  exceedingly  graceful  appearance  to  the  entire 
Btmcture  below.  The  horses  are  most  superbly  executed, 
and  really  appear  as  if  they  would  spring  out  of  their  har- 
ness :  nowhere  have  I  seen  more  admirable  sculptured  rep- 
resentations. The  ancients,  however  much  they  excelled  us 
in  imitations  of  the  human  form  in  marble,  failed  most 
singularly  in  their  attempts  to  represent  these  animals, 
whether  in  single,  figures  or  groups.     The  bronze  horse 


BRANDENBURG   GATE.  187 

which  the  Emperor  Antoninus  Pius  bestrides  in  front  of  the 
Capitoline  Museum  at  Rome  —  and  the  four  horses  over 
the  Church  of  St.  Marks,  in  the  Piazza  San  Marco  at 
Venice,  show  in  their  clumsy  limbs  and  ungraceful  out- 
lines, how  lamentably  the  ancient  sculptors  faile'd  in  this 
regard.  The  poetical  spirit  of  Ovid  could  not  have  given 
more  spirit  to  the  chargers  of  the  Sun,  than  the  modern 
artist  has  done  to  these  superb  creations  of  his  genius. 
No  wonder  the  taste  of  Napoleon  observed  at  a  glance,  the 
artistic  beauties  of  this  ornament  of  the  Brandenburg 
Gate,  and  carried  it  off  to  Paris.  But  when  the  tide  of 
battle  turned  at  Waterloo,  turned  too  by  those  very  Prus- 
sians he  had  despoiled,  it  made  this  car  not  an  unmeaning 
bauble,  but  a  real  car  of  Victory.  It  is  said  that  the 
eagle  and  the  iron  cross  were  then  added  as  emblems  to 
the  principal  figure,  to  commemorate  this  final  triumph  at 
Waterloo. 

Passing  jinder  this  magnificent  gate,  you  find  yourself  ia 
the  small  square  of  the  Pariser  Platz.  Directly  before  you 
stretches  one  of  the  finest  streets  of  any  city  in  Europe,  the 
Unter  den  Linden.  Directly  through  the  centre  is  a  broad 
and  noble  walk  shaded  by  linden  trees,  giving  the  name 
•to  the  street.  On  both  sides  this  shaded  central  avenue, 
run  roads  laid  off  for  equestrians,  and  as  carriage  tho- 
roughfares. The  street  is  full  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
wide  from  curb  to  curb,  with  fine  broad  flag-stoned  pave- 
ments on  both  sides.  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
Brandenburg  Gate  the  central  line  of  lindens  termi- 
nates, and  the  street  expands  into  one  wide  avenue.  Taking 
your  position  at  this  termination  of  the  avenue  of  lindens, 
you  have  before  you  one  of  the  most  magnificent 
equestrian  monuments  in  the  world ;  that  erected  to  the 


188  *  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

the  Great  Frederick,  whose  memory  is  cherished  by  all 
classes  of  the  people.  It  is  the  work  of  Rauch  their  favo- 
rite sculptor,  and  while  it  fitly  commemorates  the  exploits 
of  one  of  the  greatest  captains,  is  an  enduring  monument 
of  the  genius  and  skill  of  the  greatest  of  modern  sculptors. 
It  stands  upon  a  huge  block  of  polished  granite.  On  the 
four  sides  of  the  bronze  base,  which  rests  upon  this  block, 
are  sculptured  figures  in  grand  relief,  representing  on  foot 
and  on  horseback  the  celebrated  generals,  philosophers  and 
statesmen  who  shed  such  lustre  upon  the  brilliant  reign 
of  the  King.  Just  above  this  block,  and  immediately 
beneath  the  equestrian  figure,  sculptured  tablets  most  beau- 
tifully record  the  remarkable  incidents  in  the  life  of  the 
philosophic  monarch.  But  the  one  figure  that  soon  en- 
gages all  your  attention,  as  it  ought  to  do,  is  that  of  the 
King  himself,  mounted  on  a  spirited  charger.  This  eques- 
trian statue  is  more  than  seventeen  feet  high,  and  repre- 
sents the  old  warrior  in  the  habit  that  was  so  familiar  to 
the  people  of  his  day.  The  old  cane,  carried  by  a  band 
fastened  at  the  wrist,  the  pistol  holsters,  the  three  cornered 
cocked  hat,  and  the  entire  harness  of  the  horse  are  accurate 
copies  of  the  relics  preserved  of  the  King  in  the  Kunts- 
hammer,  or  Chamber  of  Art,  at  the  Palace. 

Standing  close  to  the  foot  of  the  monument  you  have 
directly  before  you  a  most  comprehensive  view  of  the 
principal  public  buildings  of  Berlin.  On  your  left  is  the 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  and  the  immense  buildings  of  the 
far-famed  University,  the  magnificent  and  stately  Arsenal, 
with  its  groups  of  emblematic  statuary  and  unique  sculp- 
tured devices,  and  the  Guard  House.  On  your  right  may 
be  noticed,  the  Prince  of  Prussia's  tasteful  palace,  the 
Royal  Library  and  the  Opera  House.    On  each  side  of  the 


THE  UNTER  DEN  LINDEN.  189 

Guard  House  are  placed  marble  statues,  by  Rauch,  of 
Generals  Bulow  Von  Dennewitz,  and  Scharnhorst,  the 
reformer  of  the  Prussian  army,  after  the  battle  of  Jena. 
Directly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  avenue,  is 
the  bronze  statue  of  old  Blucher,  looking  fierce  and 
stern,  as  if  he  was  still  in  hot  pursuit  "  of  those  ex- 
ecrable French,  and  their  rascal  leader."  In  front  of 
our  position  at  the  base  of  the  statue,  but  a  little  to  the 
right,  over  the  bridge  spanning  the  Spree,  is  the  Old  Palace 
called  the  Schloss,  which  considering  the  immense  space 
it  covers,  and  the  gorgeous  elegance  of  its  state  apartments 
is  not  excelled  by  any  similar  structure  in  Europe.  This 
Palace  is  connected  with  the  Unter  den  Linden  by  a  broad 
and  elegant  bridge  spanning  the  Spree.  This  bridge  is 
adorned  on  both  sides  with  groups  of.  marble  statuary 
representing  the  training  of  a  warrior,  from  the  moment 
when  his  Guardian  Genius  points  to  the  three  great  names 
of  Alexander,  Caesar,  and  Frederick,  upon  a,  shield,  down 
to  the  last  scene  of  all,  when  dying  upon  the  battle-field^ 
he  sinks  into  the  arms  of  Fame,  who  places  a  wreath  of 
victory  upon  his  brow. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  Schloss  is  the  tasteful  structure 
of  the  Museum,  with  the  pretty  Lust-Garten  in  front.  Be- 
tween the  Schloss  and  the  Palace  facing  the  Lust-Garten^ 
is  the  Cathedral  a  sombre-looking  structure,  but  possessing 
an  interest  from  the  fact  that  it  is  the  burial  place  of 
the  Royal  family,  and  contains  the  remains  of  the  great 
Elector  and  of  Frederick  I.,  in  gilded  coffins.  In  front  of 
the  Palace  Gate  on  the  Lust-Garten  side  stand  bronze  horses 
and  grooms,  rather  a  poor  imitation  of  the  group  on  the 
Monte  Cavallo  at  Rome.  The  wits  of  Berlin  in  allusion  to 
the  policy  of  the  reigning  monarch,  give  them  the  nick- 


190  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

names  of  "Progress  checked,"  and  "Retrogression  encou- 
raged." 

Between  two  churches  in  the  Gens  d'Armes  Platz, 
which  you  reach  fr9m  the  Unter  den  Linden,  by  the  Char- 
lotten  Strasse,  stands  the  Theatre,  or  Schauspielhaus,  a 
very  tasteful  structure  ornamented  with  sculptured  devices 
representing  mythological  subjects,  by  Ranch  and  Tieck, 
Whether  this  location  was  intended  to  illustrate  the  old 
adage  of  "the  nearer  the  church,  the  farther  from  God," 
we  know  not,  but  it  is  a  very  curious  sight  to  see  a  play 
house  flanked  thus  by  two  churches. 

The  general  appearance  of  the  more  modern  part  of 
Berlin,  is  very  pleasing.  The  streets  are  straight,  clean 
and  well  paved.  Nowhere  in  Europe  do  you  see  so  many 
buildings  constructed  in  such  correct  architectural  taste. 
The  position  of  the  city  stretched  out  upon  a  sandy  plain, 
with  no  means  of  drainage  is  somewhat  unfavorable  to  clean- 
liness, and  many  complaints  are  made  in  the  summer  season 
of  the  vile  odors  that  offend  the  nostrils  from  the  filth  of 
the  gutter-ways.  A  very  short  time  will  remedy  this  evil, 
as  Berlin  is  soon  to  be  supplied  with  abundance  of  water 
by  means  of  the  new  water-works,  in  course  of  erection 
and  nearly  completed.  As  it  is  now,  with  all  its  present 
disadvantages,  the  streets  in  their  cleanliness  will  contrast 
very  favorably  with  those  of  any  capital  in  Europe. 

Berlin  owes  much  to  the  energy,  zeal  and  munificence 
of  Frederick  the  Great.  He  lavished  immense  sums  in 
embellishing  this  his  favorite  city,  and  added  greatly  to 
its  resources  by  his  judicious  fostering  and  encouragement 
of  its  manufacturing  advantages.  After  his  exhausting 
seven  years'  war,  he  appears  to  have  gone  to  work  in  ear- 
nest to  efface  the  marks  of  the  scourge.     Every  year  he 


BERLIN.  191 

ordered  a  certain  number  of  houses  to  be  erected  in  Berlin , 
and  on  a  certain  day,  the  Director  annually  waited  on  the 
Monarch,  who  gave  him  drawings  of  the  handsomest  build- 
ings in  Italy,  of  which  he  had  a  great  collection,  made 
him  lay  out  the  ground-plan,  which  he  enlarged  or  dimin- 
ished at  his  pleasure.  When  the  houses  were  built,  he 
gave  them  to  the  proprietors  of  the  old  houses  that  had 
been  demolished.  The  French  refugees  too,  greatly  con- 
tributed to  the  embellishment  and  prosperity  of  the  city, 
inasmuch  as  they  introduced  all  kinds  of  manufactures  and 
various  arts.  The  present  monarch  has  accomplished  much 
for  the  advancement  and  embelli-shment  of  the  capital  of 
his  dominions,  and  although  he  clings  to  the  doctrines  of 
absolutism,  and  seems  to  have  as  lofty  ideas  of  kingly 
prerogative  as  some  other  monarchs  in  history,  whose  fate 
should  be  to  him  a  warning ;  still  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
he  has  in  all  things  proved  himself  a  liberal  encourager  of 
pursuits  tending  to  the  increase  of  the  greatness  of  his 
kingdom,  and  a  warm  patron  of  the  fine  arts — employing 
the  first  talent  of  Europe  in  embellishing  and  adorning 
the  public  places  of  his  Capital. 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

A    FEW   OF    THE    CELEBRITIES    OF    BERLIN. 

The  Royal  Library — The  Old  and  New  Museum — The  Chamber 
of  Art  —  Christmas  in  Berlin. 

If  the  genius  of  architecture  in  its  more  classical  devel- 
opment has  done  much  to  adorn  the  exterior  of  the  public 
buildings  and  structures  of  Berlin,  Science  has  not  forgot- 
ten to  spread  a  feast  of  good  things  for  her  votaries.     The 
treasures  of  the  noble  Library  —  the  Museum — the  long 
and  well-filled  Halls  of  the  Picture  Gallery,  arranged  in 
the  order  of  the  Schools — the  University,  the  lectures  of 
^hose  Professors,  as  those  of  Padua  once  did,  attract  stu- 
dents from  all  parts  of  the  world — attest  that  mental 
cultivation    and    artistic   taste  are   largely   encouraged. 
The  Royal  Library  is  located  in  the  Opera  Platz,  very 
near  the  Linden.     It  is  said  to  owe  its  peculiar  shape  to  a 
whim  of  Frederick  the  Great,  who  commanded  the  archi- 
tect to  take  a  chest  of  drawers  for  his  model :  and  most 
certainly  it  has  no  claim  to  any  great  architectural  beauty. 
But  its  outside  defects  may  be  forgiven,  when  you  take 
into   consideration   the  literary  treasures  enclosed   here. 
It  contains  nearly  six  hundred  thousand  books  in  all  lan- 
guages.   Its  works  on  American  History  alone,  amount 
to  several  thousand  volumes,  and  I  was  much  surprised 
find  here  a  very  complete  collection  of  the  United  States 
statistics,  and  many  of  the  Law  Reports  of  our  difierent 
States.     The  literary  curiosities  of  this  Library  arc  exceed- 
ingly rare.     Here  in  glass  cases  you  are  shown  Luther's 


THE  ROYAL  LIBRARY.  193 

Hebrew  Bible,  tbe  very  copy  from  wbich  he  made  bis 
translation,  with  marginal  notes  in  his  own  hand  writing ; 
also  his  manuscript  of  the  Psalms,  with  corrections  in  red 
ink.  Here  also  may  be  seen  the  Bible,  which  Charles 
I.  carried  to  the  scaffold,  and  just  before  he  knelt  down  to 
receive  the  fatal  blow,  handed  to  Bishop  Juxon.  The 
mother  of  the  good  Bishop's  wife,  resided  in  Berlin.  After 
his  death,  it  came  into  the  possession  of  her  son^  who  pre- 
sented it  to  the  Library.  You  gaze  at  this  memorial  of 
the  unfortunate  monarch,  with  the  deepest  interest.  Either 
by  design  or  accident,  it  was  open  at  the  nineteenth  chap- 
ter of  Job,  and  we  could  read  these  lines  so  strikingly  ap- 
plicable to  the  monarch's  fate.  '^  Behold  I  I  cry  out  of 
wrong,  but  am  not  heard.  I  cry  aloud,  but  there  is  no 
judgment.  He  hath  fenced  up  my  way,  that  I  cannot 
pass.  He  hath  stripped  me  of  my  glory,  and  taken  the 
crown  from  off  my  head.''  In  the  same  Hall  may  be 
noticed  the  Guttenburg  Bible  on  parchment,  bearing  the 
date  of  1450,  said  to  be  the  first  book  printed  with  movea- 
ble type.  Near  it,  is  a  manuscript  of  the  four  gospels, 
written  upon  parchment,  and  given  by  Charlemagne  to 
Wittekind.  It  is  most  beautifully  bound  in  a  cover  of 
ivory,  elaborately  carved.  The  lover  of  science  will  be  de- 
lighted in  finding  here  the  two  hemispheres  of  metal,  with 
which  Otto  Guericke  made  the  experiment,  which  led  him 
to  discover  the  air  pump.  When  he  had  exhausted  the 
air  between  them,  he  found  that  the  force  of  thirty  horses 
was  unable  to  separate  them.  This  immense  collection  of 
Books,  has  never  been  printed  in  catalogue  form :  but  the 
bound  catalogues  in  manuscript^  are  so  numerous  that 
they  form  quite  a  Library  in  themselves.  These  nume- 
rous catalogues  are  so  methodized,  that  there  is  very  little, 
if  any  delay,  in  turning  to  whatever  department  of  litera- 
& 


19i  FOREIGN    ETCHINGS. 

ture,  you  are  in  search  of.  Everything  is  conducted  with 
that  order,  regularity  and  exactitude,  which  marks  and 
distinguishes  the  German  mind  in  everything  down  to  the 
minutest  details. 

The  Museum  is  a  classical  structure,  facing  the  Lust- 
Garten,  and  directly  opposite  the  old  Palace.  The  wonder- 
ful pencil  of  Cornelius,  and  the  wild  and  erratic  genius  of 
Schinkel  have  assisted  in  adorning  with  frescoes  of  an  al- 
legorical character,  the  walls  of  the  rather  handsome  colon- 
nade in  front.  German  genius  revels  in  allegory,  and  it 
is  only  German  patience  that  can  stand,  study  out,  and 
comprehend  the  combinations  and  mystic  emblems  which 
such  allegories  embody.  These  frescoes  are  said  to  illus- 
trate the  formation  of  the  universe,  and  the  intellectual 
development  of  mankind.  But  as  the  pen  guided  by  the 
greatest  human  wisdom  has  failed  to  convey  very  clear 
ideas  upon  these  abstruse  topics  —  so  the  pencil  of  the 
German  artist  on  the  walls  of  the  Museum,  has  succeeded 
no  better.  Night — Uranus  leading  the  dance  of  the 
starry  host — Hope  with  her  anchor  —  Pegasus  with  his 
spurning  hoofs  —  Morning  and  Evening  —  Spring,  Sum- 
mer, and  Autumn  —  all  mingle  here  in  such  glowing 
colors,  and  with  such  an  allegorical  confusion,  that  the 
brain  swims  and  the  head  aches,  in  endeavoring  to  give 
the  whole  reality  and  consistency.  On  the  right  side  as 
you  ascend  the  staircase  leading  up  to  this  colonnade,  is 
the  magnificent  group,  of  the  combat  of  the  Amazon  with 
a  tiger,  by  Kiss.  A  very  inferi(jr  copy  of  this  glorious 
work  of  art,  was  to  be  seen  at  the  exhibition  of  the  World's 
Fair,  at  New  York.  To  my  taste  there  are  few  productions 
of  the  ancient  chisel,  that  surpass  this  fine  conception  of 
German  genius.  There  is  something  truly  wonderful  in 
the   delineation  of  the  terror  of  the   agonized  horse,  in 


PICTURE   GALLERY.  195 

whose  noble  chest  the  tiger  is  fleshing  his  claws.  It  far 
surpasses  the  same  conception  in  the  celebrated  group  of 
a  lion  seizing  a  horse,  in  the  Palazzo  de  Conservatore  at 
Eome.  The  headlong  savage  fierceness  of  the  tiger  too, 
is  in  most  admirable  contrast  with  the  heroic  and  cool  de- 
termination, that  looks  boldly  forth  from  the  piercing  eyes 
of  the  Amazonian  huntress. 

The  Picture  Gallery,  in  what  is  now  known  as  the  old 
Museum,  abounds  in  some  very  fine  specimens  of  the 
Flemish  and  Dutch  Schools.  It  is  divided  into  small  com- 
partments, and  arranged  according  to  the  date  of  the 
Schools.  This  is  a  great  convenience,  and  enables  the 
spectator  to  study  the  advance  and  progress  of  art,  from 
almost  its  first  rude  beginnings.  There  is  a  singular  pic- 
ture by  Teniers  in  the  gallery,  which  shows  how  the 
painter  took  revenge  for  the  many  cruelties  and  neglects 
practiced  upon  him  by  his  mother-in-law,  and  wife.  He 
has,  in  the  painting  representing  the  temptation  of  St. 
Anthony,  embalmed  this  portion  of  his  household  in  ridi- 
cule, for  every  generation  to  gaze  at.  The  poor  saint, 
(and  under  this  figure  the  painter  represents  himself,)  is 
seated  in  his  cave,  surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  demoniacal 
comicalities.  A  young  woman  of  exceeding  beauty  of 
feature,  stands  near  gazing  upon  him  with  great  earnest- 
ness, as  if  to  fascinate  him  with  her  look,  and  from  beneath 
her  long  gown  peeps  forth  the  tip  of  a  devil's  tail.  A  little 
to  the  one  side,  stands  an  old  woman  of  a  more  decidedly 
devilish  character,  having  her  head  ornamented  with  horns, 
and  the  cloven  hoofs  peep  forth  from  beneath  the  gown. 
Thus  did  the  painter  revenge  himself  upon  the  authors  of 
his  domestic  infelicities.  There  are  some  very  fine  pic- 
tures by  Rubens  and  Snyders ;  and  one  or  two  by  the  ar- 
tists conjointly.     There  is  a  cock-fight  by  Snyders  —  a 


196 


FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 


small  picture;  but  in  its  wonderful  truthfulness  and 
spirit,  not  surpassed  by  any  of  bis  larger  and  more  elabo- 
rate works. 

The  new  Museum,  soon  to  be  connected  with  the  old, 
contains  some  of  the  finest  treasures  of  art  in  Europe.  It  is 
on  immense  structure,  and  in  the  extensiyeness  of  its  Egyp- 
tian and  medifeval  collection  of  antifjuities,  not  equalled 
in  the  world.  Tn  the  hirge  Hall  devoted  to  the  exhibition 
of  northern  antiquities,  may  be  found  arms,  ornaments 
and  vessels,  once  belonging  to  those  original  tribes  of 
Scandinavia  and  Germany,  the  ancestors  of  the  very 
barbarians,  who  eleven  hundred  years  after  its  foundation 
burst  through  the  Salarian  Gate  of  Rome,  and  gave  up  the 
Eternal  City  to  ruin  and  devastation.  Here  may  be  seen 
an  idol  of  the  Sun,  found  at  Eolin,  evidently  of  Teutonic 
origin.  The  walls  of  this  Hall  are  adorned  with  frescoes, 
very  appropriately  representing  the  gloomy  and  fantastic 
mythology  of  the  northern  nations.  Here  may  be  seen 
the  representations  of  the  fabulous  Odin,  and  his  wife 
Hertha.  Here  in  all  its  gorgeousness  is  a  representation 
of  the  Walhalla,  or  Northern  Paradise,  the  residence  of 
those  heroes  who  ftll  in  battle  ; 

"  Where  from  the  ffowinjf  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul." 

And  in  contrast  with  this,  startling  in  its  horrors,  is  a 
representation  of  the  Helheim,  or  infernal  regions,  the 
final  abode  of  cowards.  In  another  portion  of  this  Hall 
are  unfolded  the  wonders  of  fairy-land  —  Titania  dancing 
with  her  elves  by  moonlight,  or  sporting  by  sylvan  lakes, 
embosomed  in  valleys  rich  with  all  tlie  verdure,  and  glow- 
ing in  the  amber  atmosphere  of  Paradise. 

rescendiug  a  grand  marble  staircase  leading  from  this 


MUSEUMS.  197 

Hall,  you  come  to  a  splendid  enclosure,  supported  by  rich 
columns  of  Italian  marble,  with  a  floor  most  beautifully 
tesselated.  On  every  side  mythological  frescoes,  classical  in 
design,  exquisite  in  coloring,  and  admirable  in  execution, 
painted  by  the  pupils  of  Kaulbach,  after  his  designs,  look 
down  upon  you  from  the  walls.  Descending  still  another 
marble  staircase,  you  come  to  what  is  known  as  the  Egyp- 
tian Court-yard,  lighted  from  above.  The  pillars  sup- 
porting the  roof  are  copies  from  those  in  the  Temple 
of  Karnac,  while  the  shafts  represent  Egyptian  deities. 
The  centre  of  this  court  yard  is  also  occupied  by  buge 
figures  of  Egyptian  deities.  The  walls  are  adorned  with 
frescoes,  representing  the  wonderful  architecture  of  this 
most  singular  people.  No  one  who  has  paid  any  attention 
to  architectural  study,  can  doubt,  when  he  looks  upon  the 
capitals  of  Egyptian  columns^  whether  the  Greeks  origi- 
nated the  Corinthian  or  the  Doric.  Here  we  have  the 
Temple  of  Dendara  —  the  Menmon  Statues  at  Thebes  — 
the  Temple  at  Karnac  —  the  Temple  at  Ipsambul,  and  the 
Pyramids  of  Meroe. 

Passing  from  this  Egyptian  Court,  you  enter  an  apart- 
ment with  the  ceiling  supported  by  a  double  row  of  columns 
r.^presenting  the  buds  of  the  Lotus,  while  the  walls  are 
covered  with  scenes  illustrative  of  the  domestic  life  of  the 
Egyptians. 

The  Historical  Saloon  contains  numerous  statues  of 
Egyptian  Kings  and  Princes,  and  other  historical  perso- 
nages ;  whilst  the  walls  are  covered  with  copies  from  the 
various  sculptures  of  palaces  and  temples.  All  around 
this  chamber  are  immense  cases,  containing  necklaces,  ear 
rings,  and  rings  of  gold,  coins,  scaribei,  and  other  curiosi- 
ties, worn  as  ornaments,  and  circulated  in  Egypt  more  tha'n 
three  thousand  years  ago. 

^  r2 


198  rOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

But  the  most  interesting  Cliamber  is  tlie  Hall  of  Egyp- 
tian tombs.  These  tombs  were  brought  from  the  banks 
of  the  Nile,  at  an  enormous  cost.  Here  is  the  tomb  of  a 
dignitary,  who  figured  at  the  Court  of  King  Cheops  —  and 
there  one  of  a  Priestess,  who  from  the  date  must  have 
been  contemporary  with  Moses^  when  in  Egypt.  In  this 
large  Hall  and  the  one  adjoining,  are  collected  the  mortal 
remains  of  many  an  Egyptian,  from  the  baby  of  a  week 
old,  to  those  of  the  aged  Priest  of  Isis.  In  no  collection 
are  there  to  be  seen  so  many  mummies  in  such  wonderful 
preservation.  In  many  instances  they  are  unrolled^  and 
lay  in  their  glass  covered  cases  —  regular  dried  specimens 
of  the  humanity  of  Egypt.  On  the  arm  of  the  mummy 
of  one  of  the  Priestesses  of  Apis,  I  noticed,  a  broad  heavy 
bracelet  of  gold,  while  two  rings  of  emerald  still  glittered 
on  her  fingers.  Here  also  may  be  seen  immense  stone 
Sarcophagi,  covered  with  most  elaborate  sculpture,  where 
for  centuries,  distinguished  Egyptians  had  slept  in  quiet, 
until  Teutonic  curiosity  summarily  ejected  them,  and 
brought  their  last  earthly  covering  to  adorn  this  northern 
Museum.  In  an  another  chapaber  may  be  seen  a  great 
number  of  mummied  cats,  so  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  Egyp- 
tians. They  form  a  curious  array  to  be  sure,  with  their 
blackened  heads  thrust  out  from  the  bandages  by  which 
they  are  encompassed.  By  their  side,  heaps  upon  heaps, 
are  mummies  of  the  Ibis,  the  sacred  bird  of  Egypt. 

In  another  part  of  the  new  Museum  are  magnificent 
Halls,  devoted  to  exhibitions  of  originals  and  copies 
from  the  finest  specimens  of  Grecian  and  Roman  art^ 
with  walls  adorned  by  appropriate  frescoes,  that  carry  you 
blick  in  imagination^  to  stand  upon  the  classic  soil  of 
ancient  Attica,  in  the  midst  of  her  monuments  of  art,  or 


CHAMBER   OF   ART.  190 

where  the  Land  of  the  Caesars  still  manifests  the  impress 
of  imperial  power  and  munificence. 

In  the  old  Schloss,  in  the  very  topmost  room,  is  the 
Kuntskaramer  or  Chamber  of  Art,  to  which  entrance  is 
had  by  special  permission.  This  contains  a  great  number 
of  curious  things,  and  is  soon  to  be  removed  to  the  new 
Museum.  The  Historical  Collection  is  more  particularly 
interesting,  as  illustrating  the  character  and  lives  of  re- 
markable men.  It  contains  the  model  of  a  wind-mill  made 
by  Peter  the  Great,  with  his  own  hands,  while  working  as 
a  ship  carpenter  in  Holland.  The  hussar  dress  and  cap, 
surmounted  with  a  black  eagle's  wing,  w^orn  by  the  cele- 
brated Prussian  General,  Ziethen.  Two  cannon  balls, 
each  witb  one  side  flattened,  said  to  have  met  in  mid-air 
at  the  siege  of  Madgebourg.  Some  of  the  relics  preserved 
here  are  peculiarly  national,  such  as  a  cast  taken  from  the 
face  of  Frederick  the  Great  after  death  —  truly  a  most  re- 
pulsive sight;  the  bullet  which  wounded  him  at  the 
battle  of  Rosbach,  in  1760;  a  wax  figure  of  the  same 
King  clothed  in  the  very  uniform  he  last  wore.  The  coat 
is  rusty-looking,  and  threadbare,  the  scabbard  of  the 
sword  is  mended  with  sealing  wax,  by  his  own  hands. 
His  books  and  walking  cane ;  his  favorite  flute  all  tied 
up  with  pack-thread,  are  carefully  preserved  here,  along 
with  his  pocket  handkerchief,  the  filthiest,  tattered, 
patched  rag  that  ever  bore  the  name,  and  which  would 
have  been  discarded  by  Carew,  ''  King  of  the  Beggars.'' 
Opposite  this  figure  of  Frederick,  in  a  glass  case,  are  the 
stars,  orders  and  decorations,  presented  by  the  difi'erent 
Sovereigns  of  Europe  to  Bonaparte;  one  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous being  the  Prussian  Black  Eagle.  These  were 
taken  by  the  Prussians,  when  they  captured  his  carriage 


200  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

at  "Waterloo,  from  which  he  escaped  so  hurriedly  that  he 
left  his  hat  behind,  which  also  is  preserved  here.  Not  far 
off  are  Blucher's  orders.  Then  may  be  noticed  a  cast  in 
wax  from  the  face  of  Moreau,  taken  shortly  after  his  death 
at  Dresden.  There  was  an  interest  attached  to  this. 
The  ruins  of  his  country  seat  at  Morrisville,  opposite  Tren- 
ton, I  had  often  seen.  Here  he  resided  for  a  number  of 
years  until  his  return,  Coriolanus  like,  to  fight  against  his 
country.  He  was  a  brave  man,  an  able  officer,  and  one 
whose  military  ability  Napoleon  held  in  high  esteem.  The 
story  of  his  death  is  a  curious  one.  Moreau  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  group  of  officers,  and  by  the  side  of  the  Empe- 
ror Alexander,  when  a  ball  shattered  both  his  legs,  pass- 
ing entirely  through  the  body  of  his  horse.  That  ball 
came  from  one  of  the  batteries  of  the  Young  Guard. 
Napoleon  had  observed  that  their  battery  slackened-  fire, 
and  sent  to  enquire  the  cause.  The  answer  returned  was, 
that  the  guns  were  placed  too  low,  and  so  the  effect  of  the 
fire  was  lost.  Fire  on  nevertheless,  said  the  Emperor,  we 
must  occupy  the  enemy's  attention  at  that  point.  The 
fire  was  immediately  resumed,  and  a  very  extraordinary 
movement  of  the  group  of  officers  and  commanders  on  the 
hill,  told  the  practiced  eye  of  Napoleon,  that  a  person  of  high 
rank  had  been  struck.  The  next  morning  a  peasant  brouglit 
the  account  that  a  distinguished  officer  had  been  wounded, 
having  both  his  legs  shattered  "by  a  ball,  but  could  not 
tell  his  name.  But  he  had  with  him  the  favorite  dog  of 
the  officer,  and  Napoleon  looking  for  the  name  of  the 
owner  on  the  collar,  found  that  of  Moreau.  **See !"  said  he, 
to  several  officers,  "the  finger  of  Providence  is  here." 
Moreau  submitted  to  the  amputation  of  both  his  limbs, 
oooUy  smoking  a  segar  during  to  the  operation :  but  he 


CHAMBER   OF  ART. 


201 


died  shortly  after  from  exhaustion,  and  at  his  own  request 
his  legs  were  buried  on  the  field,  and  his  body  was  laid  in 
a  vault,  in  one  of  the  Churches  of  St.  Petersburg.  There 
is  also  in  the  collection,  a  cast  in  wax  from  the  face  of  the 
Prussian  Queen  Louisa,  serenely  beautiful  even  in  death. 
Among  the  most  curious  things  in  this  Museum,  are  the 
enormous  number  of  well-used  tobacco  pipes,  once  belong- 
ing to  the  brutal  old  father  of  Frederick  the  Great.  But 
the  list  would  be  endless,  were  we  to  mention  in  detail  all 
the  curious  things  preserved  here.  Art  has  left  her  trea- 
sures, which  indicate  to  the  observer  the  magic  skill 
and  ingenuity  of  Purer,  Vicher  and  Angelo.  Figures 
exquisitely  carved  in  wood,  ivory  and  bronze,  cups  and 
vases  enriched  with  bas-reliefs,  and  glittering  with  precious 
stones  —  hunting  horns  rare  with  carved  devices,  and 
reliquaries  rich  in  enamelling,  are  gathered  here  in  rich 
profusion.  When  this  collection  is  removed  to  the  new 
Museum,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  there  will  be  more  method 
pursued  in  its  arrangement.  It  contains  some  memorabilia 
worthy  x)f  preservation  ;  and  properly  methodized,  it  will 
be  a  valuable  addition  to  that  treasure-house  of  Art. 

The  Arsenal,  is  a  huge  building,  dating  back  for  its 
origin,  to  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century.  It  is 
covered  with  sculptured  devices,  and  emblematic  figures 
look  down  upon  you  from  its  roof.  It  is  a  perfect  Military 
Museum,  containing  some  of  the  leather  guns  used  by 
Gustavus  in  fhe  thirty  years'  war — Turkish  pieces,  and  a 
complete  assortment  of  fire  arms,  from  those  used  at  the 
first  invention  of  gunpowder,  down  to  the  improvements 
of  the  present  day.  Against  the  walls  and  pillars  of 
one  of  the  chambers  containing  a  hundred  thousand  stand 
of  arms,  are  suspended  myriads  of  French  flags,  some  taken 


202  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

during  the  wars  of  the  Revolution,  and  some  captured  by 
the  Prussians  at  Paris,  in  1815 ;  besides  an  immense  num- 
ber of  muskets,  and  several  pieces  of  artillery  taken  at  the 
same  period. 

We  were  fortunate  enough  to  spend  Christmas  in  Berlin. 
It  is  the  great  festival  of  Germany.  For  weeks  the  note 
of  preparation  had  been  sounding.  The  stores  were  dressed 
in  their  gayest  attire,  and  radiant  with  glitter  and  show. 
The  pipe  shops,  in  a  place  where  everything  smokes  hut 
the  chimney Sy  form  as  a  matter  of  course,  a  gay  feature  of 
the  scene.  They  are  filled  with  perfect  pyramids  of 
porcelain  pipe-heads,  ornamented  most  exquisitely  with 
paintings,  and  some  of  them  bringing  almost  fabulous 
prices.  Here  too  you  may  observe  pipes  of  beautiful  amber, 
amber  mouth-pieces,  smoking  caps  tastefully  embroidered, 
tobacco  pouches  braided  in  gold  and  silver,  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  belonging  to  a  habit  which  has  made  smok- 
ing a  national  necessity.  The  confectioners'  shops,  are  also 
at  this  season  full  of  sweet  things,  made  with  strange  de- 
vices, for  next  to  tobacco,  does  the  German  love  cakes  and 
sweet-meats.  Every  day  on  the  Linden  at  the  hour  of 
noon,  you  will  find  these  confectioneries  filled  with  well- 
dressed  people,  sipping  the  luscious  chocolate,  or  partaking 
of  the  rich  cake,  or  still  richer  pastry,  which  the  German 
baker  delights  in  preparing.  For  weeks  before  Christmas 
these  confectioneries  are  filled  with  cakes  of  every  form 
and  device,  done  in  sugar  and  chocolate — figures  in  the 
costumes  of  all  nations,  and  animals  of  every  kind  and 
description.  But  the  most  curious  and  interesting  sight 
of  all  were  the  booths  or  fair  stalls.  For  several  days  before 
Christmas — the  large  squares  both  in  front  and  behind 


■       CHRISTMAS.  203 

the  old  Palace,  and  every  street  radiating  from  these 
squares  were  filled  with  thousands  of  fair  stalls.  They 
are  wooden  booths,  roofed  over  and  floored.  Nothing 
can  exceed  the  extensive  assortment  of  children's  toys  they 
display.  It  really  seems  as  if  the  renowned  Santa  Claus,. 
exhibited  the  rich  and  varied  stores  of  his  treasure-house 
^to  the  wondering  eyes  of  happy  children.  Here  too  are 
immense  numbers  of  Christmas  trees,  and  as  they  come 
into  town  from' the  country,  the  long  trains  of  wagons  that 
carry  them,  seem  to  rehearse  the  story  of 

*'  Birnara  forest,  come  to  Dunsinane." 

Some  of  these  Christmas  trees  are  merely  the  rough  tops 
of  the  fir-tree  just  as  they  are  brought  from  the  forest  — 
others  again  are  planted  in  large  boxes  of  earth,  and  sur- 
rounded at  the  foot  with  little  gardens  —  others  are  glit- 
tering in  gold  and  silver  leaf,  having  the  body  and 
branches  wound  round  with  silver  and  gold  wire.  On 
Christmas  eve,  no  house  in  Germany  is  without  its  Christ- 
mas tree.  It  is  the  hour  of  rejoicing,  and  round  every 
hearthstone  frotn  the  palace  to  the  cottage  gather  happy 
and  bright  faces.  It  is  with  them  the  evening  when  the 
Christ  child  enters  every  portal,  bearing  in  his  hands  gifts 
for  good  children.  What  a  beautiful  superstition  is  that 
of  the  Christ  Kindchen,  or  Christ  child?  There  is  a 
radiance  about  the  brow  of  the  holy  infant  most  beautiful 
in  its  associations,  to  the  simple  and  loving  heart  of  the 
little  child.  There  is  an  electric  chain  of  sympathy  that 
binds  that  heart  to  the  Christ  child,  who  a  child  once 
more,  is  full  of  appreciating  love  for  little  children.  The 
following  translation  of  a  German  poem  embodies  beauti- 
fully the  character  of  the  Christ  Kindchen :  "  See  there 


204  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

runs  a  stranger  child,  oh  how  swiftly  through  the  city, 
on  Christmas  eve  to  see  the  beautiful  lights  that  are  flash- 
ing from  many  a  Christmas  tree.  He  stops  before  every 
house,  and  sees  the  bright  rooms,  in  which  boldly  stand 
out  the  lampful  trees.  Woe  is  to  the  poor  child  every- 
where. He  weeps  and  says,  'to-night  every  child  has  its 
little  tree,  its  light  and  joy —  I  alone  have  none.  In  this 
strange  land  I  am  forgotten.  Will  no  one  let  me  come  in, 
and  just  afford  me  room  for  my  cold  feet?  In  all  these  bright 
houses,  is  there  no  corner  for  the  stranger  childr  He 
knocks  at  a  door,  but  there  is  no  voice  to  answer;  no 
kindly  hand  to  welcome.  Every  father  thinks  of  his 
own  children,  and  every  m6ther  is  busy  about  the  gifts. 
Then  said  the  little  stranger,  '0  dear  and  holy  Christ,  I 
have  no  father,  no  mother,  if  thou  art  not  these  to  me  I 
Be  thou  my  counseller,  for  here  am  I  forgotten.'  He  rubs 
his  cold  hands,  he  lingers  in  the  long  desolate  streets, 
with  his  eyes  cast  up  to  heaven.  But  look  !  there  comes 
up  yonder  street,  waving  a  light  before  him,  another  child 
in  smooth  white  raiment,  and  hair  that  clusters  in  golden 
ringlets  round  his  fair  young  brow.  How  musical  is  his 
voice  when  he  says,*  '  I  am  the  Holy  Christ — again  I  am 
once  more  a  child,  always  on  this  happy  evening.  Though 
all  forget  thee,  I  will  never  forget  thee.  I  oflfer  my  pro- 
tection as  well  in  the  streets,  as  in  the  lighted  houses. 
Thy  light  little  stranger,  I  will  cause  to  shine  in  the  open 
space  so  fair,  that  none  in  the  rooms  shall  be  brighter,' 
Then  waved  the  Christ  child  his  hand  towards  heaven, 
and  forth  stood  glittering  overhead  with  many  branches,  a 
shining  tree  glorious  with  a  host  of  stars.  Bright  little 
angels  bent  down  from  the  branches,  and  drew  up  the 
poor  child  into  the  starry  space,  and  so  was  he  ever  with 
the  Christ  child." 


CHRISTMAS.  205 

Now  how  much  more  beautiful  and  significant  is  this 
lovely  creation  of  "the  Christ  Child,"  than  our  rude  and 
tasteless  Santa  Claus,  who  is  nothing  more  than  a  kind  of 
annual  chimney  sweep,  or  rather  half  chimney  sweep, 
half  Jew  pedlar.  The  Christmas  legends  of  Germany, 
have  all  an  appropriateness  to  the  great  festival  to  be 
celebrated.  It  is  the  eve  of  the  Saviour's  birth,  whose 
advent  Gabriel  himself  came  down  too  to  tell,  whose 
natal  morn  was  greeted  by  the  angel  hosts^  in  strains 
of  more  than  mortal  melody.  As  he  grew  in  years> 
love  for  little  children  was  a  distinguishing  trait  in 
his  serenely  beautiful  character.  He  never  allowed  an 
opportunity  to  pass,  that  he  did  not  bless  them,  or  improve 
their  presence  to  his  disciples  by  some  beautiful  allusion. 
If  he  set  a  little  child  in  their  midst,  it  was  only  to  exclaim, 
^^  unless  ye  be  converted  and  become  as  little  children,  ye 
shall  not  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  And  when 
he  rebuked  his  disciples  who  would  have  kept  them  away, 
it  was  only  to  utter  those  sublime  words,  which  have  so 
often  refreshed  the  heart  of  the  stricken  mother — "  Suffer 
little  children  to  come  unto  Me,  and  forbid  them  not,  for 
of  such  is  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven."  Therefore,  how 
strikingly  beautiful,  and  how  appropriate  to  the  festive 
season  is  this  German  legend,  that  the  gentle  Saviour  once 
more  becoming  a  little  child,  comes  on  the  eve  of  Christ- 
mas to  every  hearthstone,  and  places  on  the  shining 
Christmas  tree  those  gifts,  which  make  the  heart  of  the 
German  child  so  happy,  and  add  fresh  lustre  to  his  won- 
dering eyes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  ENVIRONS  OF  BERLIN. 

Charlottenburg — Mausoleum  to  the  Queen  of  Prussia  —  Her  His- 
tory—  Potsdam —  Tomb  of  Frederick  the  Great — The  New  Pa- 
lace— Sans  Souci  —  Death  of  Frederick  the  Great. 

The  pretty  little  village  of  Charlottenburg,  with  its 
country-seats  and  picturesque  looking  avenues,  is  about 
three  miles  from  Berlin.  Passing  through  the  Branden- 
burg Gate,  you  arrive  at  the  village  after  a  pleasant  ride 
for  the  most  part  of  the  way  through  the  spaciou^  avenue 
dividing  the  Thier  Garten,  which  stretches  almost  to  Char- 
lottenburg. There  is  an  air  of  elegance  and  a  character 
of  aristocracy  about  this  village.  In  the  summer  season 
it  is  a  favorite  resort  of  the  citizens  of  Berlin.  The  palace 
built  here  was  erected  by  Frederick  I.,  who  married  an 
English  princess,  Sophia  Charlotte,  daughter  of  George  I., 
and  gave  the  name  to  the  place  in  compliment  to  his  wife ; 
although  this,  I  believe,  was  the  only  compliment  he  ever 
paid  her.  The  gardens  behind  the  Palace  are  very  exten- 
sive, and  laid  out  with  great  taste  and  beauty.  The  en- 
trance to  them  is  through  the  orangery,  at  the  extremity 
of  which  may  be  seen  the  graceful  front  of  a  small  theatre, 
where  plays  are  performed  for  the  summer  diversion  of 
their  majesties.  These  beautiful  gardens  are  open  to  the 
public,  and  as  they  abound  in  shady  walks,  varied  by  arti- 
ficial lakes,  aflford  a  delightful  shelter  and  place  of  amuse- 
ment to  the  citizens  of  Berlin  during  the  heat  of  the 
summer  months.     Some  of  these  lakes  abound  in  carp  of 


OHARLOTTENBURG.  207 

immense  size  and  great  age,  many  of  them  having  passed 
their  hundredth  year.  On  the  occasion  of  my  visit,  one 
of  these  venerable  denizens  was  pointed  out  to  me,  wearing 
a  bell  round  his  neck,  said  to  have  been  placed  there  by 
the  father  of  Frederick  the  Great.  He  had  received  one 
of  the  three  warnings,  being  stone  blind ;  but  his  hearing 
was  evidently  acute,  as  he  was  guided  to  thfe  bread  thrown 
in  the  water  by  the  noise  made  when  it  fell ;  and  as  for 
his  appetite,  it  appeared  equally  voracious  with  that  of  his 
younger  brethren.  The  greatest  object  of  interest  however 
to  be  found  in  the  grounds  belonging  to  this  Palace  is  the 
Mausoleum,  where  repose  the  remains  of  Louisa,  Queen  of 
Prussia,  and  those  of  her  weak  but  unfortunate  husband. 
You  come  suddenly  upon  a  white  Doric  temple,  that  might 
be  deemed  a  mere  adornment  of  the  grounds — a  spot  sacred 
to  seclusion  :  but  the  presence  of  the  mournful  cypress, 
and  the  weeping  willow,  declare  it  to  be  the  habitation  of 
the  dead.  In  this  temple,  so  solemn  by  the  subdued  light 
of  its  interior,  on  a  marble  sarcophagus,  reclines  a  sculp- 
tured figure  of  the  Queen.  It  i^.a  portrait  statue,  and  is 
said  to  be  a  perfect  resemblance,  not  as  she  was  in  death, 
but  when  she  lived  to  bless,  and  to  be  blessed.  Nothing 
can  be  more  calm  and  kind  than  the  expression  of  the 
features.  The  hands  are  folded  on  the  bosom,  the  limbs 
are  sufficiently  crossed  to  show  the  repose  of  life.  She 
does  but  sleep ;  indeed,  she  scarce  can  be  said  to  sleep,  for 
her  mind  and  heart  are  on  her  sweet  lips.  One  could 
sit  soothed  for  hours  by  the  side  of  this  marble  form  —  it 
breathes  such  purity  and  peace.  A  simple  drapery,  perfect 
in  every  fold,  shrouds  the  figure.  Louisa  is  said  to  have 
been  the  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  day — and  one 
can  readily  believe  it,  looking  down  upon  this  noble  effort 
of  the  sculptor's  skill,  which  radiant  with  beauty  as  it  is, 


208  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS.  ' 

scarcely  does  full  justice  to  the  lovely  features  of  Queen 
Louisa.  The  history  of  this  unfortunate  Princess  is  a 
most  interesting  and  affecting  one.  She  said  of  herself, 
shortly  before  her  death :  ^<  Posterity  will  not  set  down  my 
name  among  celebrated  women,  but  whoever  knows  the 
calamities  of  these  times  will  say  of  me,  she  suffered  much, 
and  suffered  with  constancy.  And  may  aftertimes  be  able 
to  add,  she  gave  birth  to  children  who  deserved  better 
days,  who  struggled  to  bring  them  round,  and  at  last  suc- 
ceeded." What  a  life  of  startling  vicissitude  was  hers ! 
How  full  of  heart-stirring  incident !  What  sufferings  she 
endured !  What  resolution  she  displayed  in  the  midst  of 
her  misfortunes !  What  recuperative  energy  she  brought 
to  bear  after  every  defeat !  All  these  have  been  written 
of  her,  and  to  her  honor  in  the  pages  of*!Prussian  history. 
It  was  the  influence  of  this  noble-minded  woman,  every 
inch  a  Queen,  that  brought  Prussia  into  the  field  in  1806; 
and  it  was  the  ignominy  and  scorn  heaped  upon  her  by 
an  insolent  conqueror,  that  made  every  corner  of  Prussia 
burn  with  unextinguishable  hate  against  the  French. 
Trusting  in  the  courage  and  energy  of  the  nation,  she 
accompanied  the  King  to  the  army,  but  retired  to  a  place 
of  safety  immediately  after  the  battle  of  Jena,  so  disas- 
trous to  the  Prussians.  Before  that  battle  she  parted  with 
her  husband  in  tears,  and  they  never  met  again  in  happi- 
ness. Suffering  in  mind  and  body  she  went  down  to  Tilsit 
during  the  negociations  that  followed,  much  it  is  said, 
against  her  own  inclinations;  bu,t  she  hoped  by  the  charm 
of  her  presence  that  the  heart  of  the  conqueror  might  be 
softened,  that  conqueror  who  had  insolently  declared 
in  ten  years  his  dynasty  would  be  the  oldest  in  Europe. 
That  interview  resulted  however  ih  nothiug  except  to  extort 
from.  Napoleon  a*  tribute  to  the   Queen,   which,  ooming 


QUEEN   OF  PRUSSIA.  209 

from  so  keen  an  observer  of  character,  has  great  weight. 
Speaking  of  that  interview,  Napoleon  once  said,  "The 
Queen  of  Prussia  unquestionably  possessed  talents,  great 
information,  and  singular  acquaintance  with  affairs ;  she 
was  the  real  sovereign  for  fifteen  years.  In  truth,  in  spite 
of  my  address  and  utmost  efforts,  she  constantly  led  the 
conversation,  returned  with  pleasure  to  her  subject,  and 
directed  it  as  she  chose,  but  still  with  so  much  tact  and 
judgment,  it  was  impossible  to  take  offence."  Contempo- 
rary reports  would  indicate  that  Napoleon  at  this  interview 
treated  the  poor  Queen  with  unfeeling  insolence.  "  The 
object  of  my  journey.  Sire,"  said  she,  "is  to  prevail  on 
you  to  grant  Prussia  an  honorable  peace."  "How" 
replied  the  conqueror,  "  could  you  think  of  going  to  war 
with  me?"  and  the  answer  of  the  Queen  was  modest  and 
humble  —  "It  was  allowable  that  the  fame  of  the  Great 
Frederick;  should  lead  us  to  overrate  our  strength,  if  we 
have  overrated  it."  After  this  interview  her  health  failed 
her,  but  she  lived  long  enough  to  witness  the  degradation 
of  the  monarchy.  Her  last  dying  words  to  her  husband 
and  children,  were,  "  when  I  am  gone,  you  will  weep  for  me, 
as  I  myself  have  wept  for  poor  Prussia :  but  you  must  act 
— free  your  people  from  the  degradation  in  which  they 
lie,  and  prove  yourselves  worthy  of  the  blood  of  the  Great 
Frederick."  And  they  listened  to  that  dying  request. 
They  did  act  so  as  to  save  the  country.  After  the  retreat 
of  the  French  from  Kussia,  the  King  gave  the  signal. 
He  told  his  subjects  he  wanted  men;  he  wanted  money; 
and  like  the  fruit  from  the  dragon's  teeth,  armed  men 
sprang  as  it  were  from  the  ground.  The  enthusiasm  was 
universal,  and  animated  all  classes.  No  age,  no  sex  seemed 
to  be  exempt  from  this  influence.  The  ladies  sent  their 
jewels-  and  their  ornaments  to  the  treasury  to  be  sold  iot 
2s 


210  rOREIQN   ETCHINGS. 

the  public  service.  They  received  in  return,  rings,  crosses, 
and  ornaments  of  iron,  with  the"  inscription  in  German, 
''Ich  gab  Gold  urn  Eisen;''  (I  gave  gold  for  iron,)  and  to 
this  day  many  a  Prussian  family  points  to  them  as  their 
most  precious  heir-looms.  When  the  bristling  lines  of  the 
Prussians  were  first  revealed  to  the  startled  gaze  of  Napo- 
leon at  Waterloo,  when  he  thought  he  had  his  enemy  in 
his  grasp;  we  wonder  if  he  did  not  see  the  shade  of  Louisa, 
like  another  Nemesis,  leading  them  on  to  his  overthrow. 

But  to  return  from  this  digression.  The  Palace  at 
Charlottenburg  contains  nothing  very  remarkable  to  those 
familiar  with  the  interior  of  English  palaces.  Long  suites 
of  rooms  ornamented  with  paintings  and  sculpture;  an 
immense  ball-room  with  an  inlaid  floor  of  polii^hed  oak, 
lighted  by  four  huge  chandeliers  of  rock  crystal ;  a  large 
apartment  filled  from  ceiling  to  floor  with  rare  specimens 
of  china,  most  exquisitely  painted ;  are  the  most  remark- 
able localities  in  this  favorite  retreat  of  Prussian  royalty. 

Potsdam  is  about  an  half  hour's  ride  by  railway  from 
Berlin.  It  is  a  forlorn  looking  spot,  fast  going  to  decay, 
but  still  retaining  traces  of  its  former  magnificence,  when 
Frederick  the  Great  endeavored  to  make  it  one  of  the  finest 
towns  in  Europe.  It  exhibits  fine  wide  streets,  but  the 
grass  grows  in  the  footways,  and  hardly  a  human  being  is 
to  be  seen,  except  a  few  of  the  lounging  military.  Its 
location  is  a  very  picturesque  one ;  the  river  Havel  upon 
which  it  is  located  here  expanding  into  a  Lake.  After 
witnessing  the  morning  parade  of  a  few  Prussian  soldiers, 
we  passed  over  the  Square,  to  visit  the  Garrison  Kircbe, 
or  Church  of  the  Garrison,  where  repose  the  remains  of 
the  Great  Frederick.  The  vault  is  on  a  level  with  the 
floor  of  the  Church,  and  is  directly  behind  the  pulpit. 
This  vault  contains   also   the   sarcophagus  holding  the 


POTSDAM.  211 

remains  of  the  father  of  the  King,  that  stern,  eccentric 
old  monarch,  no  less  a  devotee  than  a  soldier;  but  whose 
devotion  was  limited  to  external  practices,  and  who  thought 
it  not  the  smallest  harm,  to  treat  his  children,  his  servants^ 
and  his  subjects,  as  a  groom  treats  his  horses,  or  a  corsair 
his  slaves.  The  vault  is  arched  at  the  ceiling,  and  very- 
plain;  the  sarcophagi  of  the  monarchs  rest  upon  the  floor 
on  the  right  and  left  as  you  enter.  One  cannot  help 
recalling  as  he  stands  in  this  chamber  of  the  mighty  dead, 
that  interesting  midnight  scene  ;  when  in  this  very  vault, 
and  over  that  bronze  sarcophagus,  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
and  the  King  of  Prussia  joined  hands,  and  swore  eternal 
friendship  and  alliance  —  an  alliance  which  ultimately 
wrought  such  wonders  for  Europe.  And  here  but  a 
twelvemonth  after,  their  conqueror  Napoleon  stood  where 
they  had  thus  plighted  their  faith,  and  bowing  his  knee, 
exclaimed,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  coffin  of  the  Great 
Frederick,  "hadst  thou  been  alive,  I  never  should  have 
been  here ;"  and  then  rising,  basely  stole  the  sword  and 
scarf  of  the  hero,  and  the  standards  of  his  Guards,  beneath 
whose  shadow  he  reposed.     It  was  a  base  deed, 

"  It  was  a  grievoush  fault, 
And  grievously  hath  Caesar  answered  it." 

How  much  more  honorable  and  magnanimous  the  conduct 
of  that  Russian  officer,  who  seeing  the  monument  erected 
at  Cologne,  to  commemorate  the  battle  of  Austerlitz, 
simply  engraved  below  the  inscription,  ''Seen  and  ap- 
proved by  the  Russian  Governor  of  Cologne,  1814.^'  Tin* 
fortunately  all  traces  of  this  sword  have  been  lost.  It  is 
said  that  just  before  the  entry  of  the  Allies  into  Paris, 
Joseph  Bonaparte  commanded   these  flags  to  be  burnt, 


212  F^ftliroN  ETCHINGS. 

and  the  sword  of  Frederick  broken.  On  each  side  of  the 
vault,  DOW  hang  the  eagles  and  standards  taken  by  the 
Prussians  from  Napoleon  at  Waterloo  —  a  fitting  retribu- 
tion, and  an  atonement  to  the  shade  of  their  great  hero,  for 
so  grievous  an  insult.  When  these  captured  standards 
surmounted  by  their  eagles,  are  pointed  out,  care  is  always 
taken  to  make  the  stranger  understand  that  they  are  here 
suspended  as  trophies  of  the  vengeance  Prussia  took  upon 
the  violator  of  her  mighty  monarch's  grave. 

The  New  Palace,  which  is  about  two  miles  from  Pots- 
dam, is  a  huge  ungainly  brick  edifice,  built  by  the  Great 
King  after  his  seven  years'  war,  and  was  erected  in  a  spirit 
of  bravado.  His  adversaries  fully  supposed,  that  after  so 
long  and  expensive  a  war,  his  financial  resources  must  be 
completely  exhausted.  "I  will  show  them,"  said  the 
brave  monarch,  '^that  an  exhibition  of  true  patriotism 
never  exhausts  a  national  treasury."  And  so  in  this 
defiant  spirit,  he  built  this  huge  structure  to  exhibit  the 
recuperative  energies  of  Prussia.  It  contains  in  all  seventy- 
two  apartments.  One  large  saloon,  with  a  total  disregard 
of  good  taste,  is  decorated  from  floor  to  ceiling,  with  shells 
of  every  hue,  wrought  into  the  most  elegant  devices, 
intermingled  here  and  there  with  rich  specimens  of  amber, 
rubies,  cornelians,  emeralds,  and  other  precious  stones. 
In  this  Saloon  hang  four  immense  chandeliers  of  rock 
crystal,  which  when  lighted  must  produce  a  magnifi- 
cent effect  with  the  blaze  of  the  numerous  lights  reflected 
from  polished  shells  and  shining  minerals.  In  this  Palace 
you  are  'shown  the  range  of  apartments  occupied  by 
Frederick  during  his  life  time,  and  they  are  preserved  in 
the  same  order  they  were  left  at  his  death.  Passing 
through  a  long  gallery,  you  enter  the  chambers  once  occu- 


SANS  SOUO 

piod  by  the  King.  There  may  be  seen  his  writing  tables, 
smeared  with  ink  —  his  music  stand,  and  book-cases  filled 
with  books,  many  of  them  works  in  the  French  language. 
There  are  the  chairs  and  sofas,  on  which  he  was  wont  to 
sit,  with  their  faded  covers  torn  by  the  claws  of  his  favo- 
rite dogs,  who  were  always  his  companions.  Napoleon 
visited  all  these  rooms,  and  paid  the  most  scrupulous 
regard  to  the  arrangements,  not  permitting  anything  to 
be  disturbed,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  pictures, 
which  he  sent  to  Paris. 

To  the  west  of  Potsdam,  are  the  Palace  and  gardens  of 
Sans  Souci.  The  Gardens  are  laid  out  in  the  stiff,  formal 
French  style,  with  alleys  and  cut  hedges.  The  Palace 
stands  at  the  extremity  of  the  broad  avenue.  It  occupies 
the  summit  of  a  series  of  terraces  rising  one  above  the 
other,  like  a  grand  stair-case.  This  Palace  was  a  favorite 
resort  of  the  King  —  and  it  was  here  Voltaire  had  his  apart- 
ments during  his  literary  intimacy  with  the  Prussian 
monarch.  His  apartments  are  still  pointed  out,  and  are 
directly  under  those  occupied  by  the  King.  Here  he 
associated  with  him  in  the  most  agreeable  manner,  reading 
with  him  the  best  works  of  either  ancient  or  modern 
authors,  and  assisting  the  King  in  those  literary  pursuits 
by  which  he  relieved  the  cares  of  government.  But  this 
intimacy  appears  to  have  been  short  lived,  and  the 
French  philosopher  found  to  his  mortification,  when  it  was 
too  late,  that,  where  a  man  is  suf&ciently  rich  to  be  master 
of  himself,  neither  his  liberty,  his  family,  or  his  country, 
should  be  sacrificed  for  a  pension.  Voltaire  in  speaking 
of  his  brief  residence  at  Sans  Souci,  says :  "  Astofa  did 
not  meet  a  kinder  reception  in  the  Palace  of  Alcina.  To 
be  lodged  in  the  same  apartments  that  Marshal  Saxe  had 


214  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

occupied,  to  have  the  royal  cooks  at  my  command,  when  I 
chose  to  dine  alone,  and  the  royal  coachman  when  I  had 
an  inclination  to  ride,  were  trifling  favors.  Our  sappers 
were  very  agreeable.  If  I  am  not  deceived,  I  think  we 
had  mnch  wit.  The  King  was  witty,  and  gave  occasion 
of  wit  to  others."  This  state  of  things  was  too  pleasant 
to  last  long.  The  poet  and  philosopher  gives  himself  the 
best  account  of  the  cause  of  the  sudden  estrangement.  He 
ascribes  it  to  this  incident.  *'  One  La  Metric,  a  physician, 
an  atheist,  and  the  King's  reader,  told  his  majesty  one 
day,  that  there  were  persons  exceedingly  jealous  of  my 
favor  and  fortune.  *Be  quiet  awhile,''  said  the  King,  'we 
squeeze  the  orange,  and  throw  it  away  when  we  have  swal- 
lowed the  juice.'  La  Metric  did  not  forget  to  repeat  to 
me  this  fine  apothegm,  worthy  Dionysius,  of  Syracuse. 
From  that  time  I  determined  to  take  all  care  of  the 
orange  peel."  And  the  poet  was  as  good  as  his  word. 
A  sarcasm  of  Voltaire's  in  reference  to  the  King's  bad 
poetry,  reached  the  royal  ears,  a  quarrel  was  the  result, 
and  the  opportunity  was  seized  by  the  disgusted  French, 
man  to  leave.  Then  it  was  he  took  refuge  at  Forney, 
near  Geneva,  which  he  only  left  to  have  a  brief  triumph 
at  Paris,  then  td  sink  into  the  tomb. 

In  the  rear  of  the  Palace  is  a  semi-circular  colonnade, 
within  which,  when  the  infirmities  of  his  last  sickness 
bowed  him  down,  the  greatest  monarch  of  his  day  was 
accustomed  to  take  exercise.  His  decline  was  gradual  and 
easy.  He  never  lost  the  vigor  of  his  mind,  but  continued 
every  inch  a  King.  At  last  to  the  semi-circular  colonnade 
the  old  warrior  was  brought  out  in  his  arm  chair,  sur- 
rounded by  his  favorite  dogs,  to  bask  in  the  sun.  "I 
shall  be  nearer  him  by-and-bye,"  said  he,  as  he  gazed 


SANS  SOUOI  215 

towards  the  luminary,  and  these  were  nearly  his  last 
words.  At  the  extremity  of  the  terrace  may  be  seen  the 
graves  of  his  favorite  war-horse  and  dogs,  by  whose  side 
he  desired  in  his  will  that  he  should  be  buried :  but  for  once 
they  disregarded  his  wishes  —  and  his  remains  were  carried 
to  the  GUrrison  Church,  to  rest  by  the  side  of  those  of  his 
brutal  old  Father.  As  they  were  borne  through  the  iron 
gate  of  this  colonnade,  it  was  locked,  and  has  never  been 
opened  since.  The  wind-mill  erected  by  Frederick  for  the 
miller,  is  still  here,  and  in  the  possession  of  his  direct  de- 
scendants. It  stands  very  close  to  the  Palace,  and  throws  its 
long  arms  around,  as  if  in  a  defiant  spirit.  In  enlarging 
his  grounds  at  Sans  Souci,  the  King  came  in  conflict  with 
a  poor  miller,  whose  wind-mill  covered  the  land  the 
monarch  desired  to  include  in  his  gardens.  The  peasant 
with  great  spirit  resisted  the  encroachment,  and  appealing 
to  the  Courts  of  Justice,  was  sustained.  Such  was  the 
King's  admiration  for  the  energy  and  boldness  with  which 
the  poor  peasant  had  entered  the  lists  against  him,  in  defence 
of  his  rights  of  property,  that  he  erected  the  present  mill 
for  him;  and  some  few  years  since,  one  of  the  family  being 
in  adverse  circumstances,  offered  to  sell  it  to  the  late  King, 
but  he  refused,  and  most  nobly  sent  him  the  sum  requisite 
to  relieve  him  from  embarrassment,  telling  him  that  his 
mill  was  part  and  parcel  of  the  national  history  of  Prussia. 
The  Prince  of  Prussia  has  a  most  charming  country 
palace  near  Potsdam,  which  strongly  reminds  one  of  the 
elegant  country  mansions  of  the  English  nobility.  The 
interior  is  fitted  up  with  that  consummate  taste,  and  sim- 
ple elegance,  to  be  found  in  all  the  Palaces  of  this  Prince. 
A  leisurely  survey  of  the  beauties  to  be  seen  within  this 
elegant  abode,  finished  a  day  of  sight-seeing  at  Potsdam. 


PART  11. 


HECOLLEOTIONTS 


OP  THK 


-A.l^TXI<SiXJIXIBS     OF    IT-A^I^^ST. 


PART    II. 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE 
-AJ^TTICiTJITIES  OF   X'TJ^Tu'Sr. 

CHAPTER  I. 

NAPLES  AND  POMPEII. 

Porto  D'Anzio  —  Voyage  to  Naples — Appearance  of  Naples  —  Con- 
fusion of  its  Streets  —  Pompeii  — Its  Destruction  —  Present  ap- 
pearance of  the  Streets  and  Buildings. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  wlien  we  arrived  at  Porto 
d'Anzio  after  a  tedious  ride  over  the  Campagna  from  Rome. 
This  port  on  the  Mediterranean  is  interesting  from  the 
fact,  that  it  occupies  the  site  once  covered  by  the  world- 
renowned  Antium,  the  great  naval  station  of  the  Romans. 
Here  Coriolanus  stood  in  the  palace  of  bis  enemy,  and 
vowed  vengeance  against  his  ungrateful  countrymen. 

"A  goodly  city  is  this  Antium:  City! 

Tis  I  that  made  thy  widows;  many  an  heir 

Of  these  fair  edifices  'fore  my  wars 

Have  I  heard  groan  and  drop;  then  know  me  not 

Lest  that  thy  wives  with  spits,  and  boys  with  stones 

In  puny  battle  slay  me." 

It  was  also  the  birth-place  of  the  monster  Nero,  and  the 
remains  of  the  moles  he  constructed^  are  still  to  be  seen 
here.     It  is  now  a  desolate-looking  spot,  where, 
"  In  many  a  heap  the  ground 
•  Heaves,  as  though  Ruin  in  a  frantic  mood 
Had  done  its  utmost." 


220  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Sand-heaps  now  cover  the  fragments  of  ruined  palaces  and 
temples ;  for  Antium  in  the  days  of  its  glory  boasted  of 
much  architectural  magnificence. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  we  left  the  little  port, 
'to  dare  in  a  frail-looking  steamer,  the  perils  of  darkness, 
and  perhaps  encounter  the  capriciousness  of  the  treache- 
rous Mediterranean. 

The  next  morning,  with  ths  bright  sun  of  Italy  dancing 
on  the  wave,  and  the  soft  vernal  air  of  that  delicious  clime 
fanning  the  brow,  we  found  ourselves  entering  the  far-famed 
Bay  of  Naples — passing  close  to  the  bold  headland  of 
Misenum,  rendered  so  memorable  by  the  muse  of  Virgil. 
In  the  distance  could  be  seen  the  graceful  curve  of  the 
Baian  shore.  Time  and  volcanic  action  have  left  their 
traces  upon  it,  but  in  all  the  natural  surroundings,  the 
shores  of  Baia  remain  as  enchanting  and  lovely  as  ever. 
Horace,  who  was  no  mean  judge  of  natural  beauty,  thought 
no  place  in  the  world  so  perfectly  enchanting  as  the 
Baian  shore.  Here  the  greatest  and  wealthiest  of 
the  Romans  erected  their  charming  villas";  and  when 
the  narrow  shores  could  no  longer  supply  sites  for  their 
luxurious  retreats,  built  moles  and  foundations  into  the 
sea ;  exhausting  regal  fortunes  that  they  might  possess  a 
dwelling  in  this  earthly  Paradise.  Here  rose  the  villas 
of  Pompey,  Marius  and  Csesar — here  the  young  Marcellus 
died,  to  whose  untimely  fate,  Virgil  so  touchingly  alludes. 
This  was  Martial's  "golden  shore  of  Baia,  and  blessed 
Venus :"  and  still  does  the  graceful  ruin  of  the  beautiful 
temple  of  the  goddess  adorn  it,  and  arrest  the  stranger's 
attention.  And  there  too,  just  in  the  centre  of  the  grand 
sweep  of  the  magnificent  Bay  as  it  bends  towards  ^ain,  is 
the   modern   town   of  Pozzuoli,  still   crowned   with  the 


NAPLES.  221 

ruins  of  the  little  Greek  town  from  which  it  sprung.  It 
was  famous  in  the  annals  of  Imperial  Rome  ;  and  is  cele- 
brated as  the  spot,  where  the  brave  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles, 
who  combined  a  woman^s  softness,  with  the  energy  of  a 
lion,  a  prisoner  and  in  bonds,  "tarried  for  seven  days  aa 
he  went  towards  Rome.'*  And  there  too  is  the  far-famed 
grotto  of  Posilipo,  and  near  it  on  the  side  of  that  shady 
ravine,  the  quiet  spot,  where  rest  the  ashes  of  the  great 
Mantuan  Bard. 

*        *        *        "A  fabric  lone  and  gray, 
That  boasts  no  pillars  rich,  nor  friezes  gay ; 
An  ilex  bends  above  its  moss  clad  walls; 
In  long  festoons  the  dark  green  ivy  falls, 
And  pale-eyed  flowers  in  many  a  crevice  bloom, 
'Tis  there  he  sleeps — that  cell  is  Virgil's  tomb." 

The  entire  coast  from  Pozzuoli  to  Misenum  is  covered 
with  the  ruins  of  baths,  temples,  theatres,  moles  and  villas, 
of  ancient  date.  Here  it  was  in  the  country  round  as  the 
ancients  used  to  relate,  '•  Bacchus  and  Ceres  contended  for 
the  mastery."  Not  a  cliff  but  flings  upon  the  wave  some 
image  of  delight  to  muse  on  as  your  bark  is  gliding  by. 

For  some  time  we  coasted  along  those  enchanting  shores, 
lined  with  villages  and  country  houses  gleaming  from 
amidst  orange  groves  and  vineyards,  until  at  length  round- 
ing the  beautiful  cape  of  Posilipo,  the  city  of  Naples  in 
all  its  brightness,  burst  upon  our  view,  with  its  churches 
and  palaces  reflecting  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  softened 
by  the  deep  azure  of  the .  skies  of  the  blessed  Campania. 
Not  a  cloud  was  to  be  seen,  save  that  which  rested  like  a 
white  wreath  upon  the  summit  of  Vesuvius;  and  turning 
for  a  moment  from  the  gay  and  lovely  city,  the  mind 
became  fixed  on  the  black  mountain,  so  deeply  and  so  fear- 
t2 


222  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

ftilly  associated  with  the  history  of  this  land  and  its  inha- 
bitants— the  only  dark  and  threatening  feature  in  the 
smiling  and  lovely  scene  before  us. 

Par  to  the  right,  following  the  sweep  of  the  Bay  towards 
the  lofty  mountains,  was  Castella  Mare,  with  Sorrento 
and  Capo  di  Minerva,  which  in  that  direction  mark  the 
extreme  limit  of  the  graceful  curve  of  the  enchanting 
shore ;  while  midway,  as  if  to  guard  the  entranpe  of  this 
favored  region,  stands  the  beautiful  Isle  of  Capri.  It 
was  indeed  with  justice  the  ancients  fixed  here  the  resi- 
dence of  the  S^ren  Parthenope,  and  called  the  place  after 
her  name.  As  you  look  out  upon  the  charming  scene 
on  every  side^  you  cease  to  wonder  that  it  became  the 
favorite  retreat  of  the  great  and  wealthy  of  the  Romans ; 
and  that  here,  subdued  by  the  delicious  a»d  enervating 
climate,  these  Lords  of  the  World  forgot  their  greatness, 
and  abandoned  themselves  to  luxury  and  indolence.  Here 
Gaasar  forgot  his  ambition,  and  Virgil  sang,  not  "  arms  and 
the  man,"  but  allowing  his  muse  to  recreate  in  the  soft 
and  peaceful  scenes  around  him,  tuned  his  rustic  reeds  to 
pastoral  songs,  and  the  ease  and  happiness  of  ths  life  of 
the  husbandman. 

The  Greek,  the  Roman,  and  the  Goth,  the  Norman,  and 
the  Spaniard,  charmed  with  its  surprising,  miraculous 
beauty,  have  each,  in  turn,  possessed  this  favored  land — 
until  captivated  by  its  pleasures,  and  losing  by  degrees 
the  virtue  and  hardihood  of  their  native  character,  the 
conquerors  have  been  at  length  subdued,  and  confounded 
with  the  conquered,  in  the  same  general  effeminacy  and 
indolence,  which  in  all  ages  have  distinguished  the  inha- 
bitants of  this  terrestrial  Paradise, 

"  In  floral  beauty  fields  and  groves  appear  ; 

Man  seems  the  only  growth  that  dwiodles  here.-' 


NAPLES.  223 

The  City  of  Naples  lies  upon  the  margin  of  this  beauti- 
ful Bay,  in  the  form  of  a  semicircle,  and  gradually  spreads 
itself  upon  the  acclivity  behind,  crowned  by  the  Castle  of 
St.  Elmo,  which  overlooks  the  whole.  The  houses  and 
streets  rise  one  above  the  other,  interspersed  with  gardens 
and  trees.  The  palace  on  one  of  the  heights,  and  the 
Nuovo  Castello,  with  various  other  buildings  in  a  castel- 
lated form,  are  exceedingly  striking  and  picturesque  as 
seen  from  the  Bay. 

Such  does  Naples  appear  when  taken  as  a  whole  —  but 
when  you  have  landed,  and  proceed  to  take  the  city  in 
detail,  its  architecture  will  not  bear  comparison  with  that 
of  the  other  capitals  of  Europe.  Some  of  the  churches, 
indeed,  are  striking  to  the  eye,  but  only  from  their  defor- 
mity. Within  they  are  loaded  with  ornament  to  such  a 
degree,  that  the  very  excess  of  decoration  injures  the 
building  it  was  intended  to  beautify.  The  altars,  more 
especially,  display  an  exuberance  of  riches.  There  jasper, 
lapis  lazuli,  porphyry,  and  all  sorts  of  rare  marbles,  are 
jumbled  together,  without  the  smallest  regard  to  simplicity 
or  taste.  Show  and  glitter  are  the  great  objects  of  admi- 
ration—  in  fact,  in  Naples  justly  has  it  been  observed^ 
that  every  thing  is  gilded,  from  the  cupolas  of  the  churches 
to  the  pills  of  the  apothecary. 

London  is  noisy ;  but  compared  with  Naples,  it  is  tran- 
quility itself.  In  London,  the  people  pour  along  the  great 
thoroughfares,  in  a  steady  and  continuous  stream,  and  at 
regular  periods ;  Eastward^  or  City  ways,  in  the  morning, 
and  Westward,  or  homeward  in  the  afternoon.  But  the 
vast  and  motley  crowds  of  Naples  whirl  about  in* groups 
like  eddies,  or  collect  in  crowds  by  the  mere  exigencies  of 
their  animal  existence.     Here,  we  come  upon  a  mob,  col- 


224  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

lected  round  a  showman,  screaming  and  gesticulating  with 
delight  —  yonder  is  a  crowd  listening  to  some  crack- 
hrained,  half-starved  poet,  who  is  reading  from  a  dirty 
manuscript  his  verses.  The  principal  street  running 
through  the  heart  of  the  city  is  the  Toledo,  and  a  very 
splendid  and  showy  street  it  is.  The  shops  are  gay  and 
gaudy,  and  the  tide  of  human  existence  flows  here  in  a 
noisy  current,  and  stirs  up  the  blood  of  its  people  with 
almost  the  same  emotions  as  the  upheavings  of  the  moving 
fires  of  Vesuvius,  or  the  swells  of  its  beautiful  sea,  when 
the  earthquake  shakes  the  earth  with  its  fearful  vibrations. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  the  eternal  bustle  and 
worry  of  this  street.  There  is  no  pavement;  and  it  is 
filled  with  all  sorts  of  vehicles,  driven  at  a  mad  and  furious 
rate ;  and  if  you  do  not  keep  a  sharp  look  out,  you  may 
find  yourself  thrown  from  your  perpendicular.  Here  you 
are  swept  on  by  the  current  —  there  you  are  wheeled 
round  by  the  vortex — a  diversity  of  trades  dispute  with 
3'ou,  the  streets — you  are  stopped  by  a  carpenter's  bench; 
you  are  lost  among  shoemaker's  shops;  you  dash  among 
the  pots  of  a  macaroni  stall — what  a  hubbub  —  what  a 
variety  of  costumes  !  It  seems  as  if  all  sorts  of  people  had 
come  out  to  show  themselves,  and  hold  a  rag  fair.  Those 
genteel  people  in  that  flaunting  carriage,  open  at  the  top 
belong  to  the  nobility;  yonder  comes  a  bevy  of  young 
priests,  dressed  in  their  long  woollen  robes,  with  three- 
cornered  hats,  and  behind  them  walk  a  couple  of  fat 
and  lazy  friars. 

Any  description  of  Naples  would  be  incomplete,  that  did 
not  introduce  the  countless  fiacres,  cabriolets,  and  carriages 
of  all  sorts,  with  the  miserable  animals  that  draw  them. 
Neither  could  one  give  a  complete  idea  of  the  noise  and 
confusion  of  this  singular  City,  without  introducing  the 


NAPLES. 


225 


cries,  and  cracking  of  whips  of  their  wild  and  excited 
drivers.  All  classes  take  to  carriages  here  of  some  sort, 
and  whirl  about  from  one  end  of  the  City  to  another,  with 
a  mad  rapidity  which  fairly  astonishes  and  bewilders  the 
stranger.  The  nobleman  in  his  gaudy  carriage,  with 
lackeys  in  tawdry  livery  —  officers  in  bright  uniforms  — 
priests  in  couples,  and  busy  friars,  to  whom  cleanliness, 
certainly  was  never  great  godliness  —  soldiers  and  buffoons, 
washer-women  and  lazzaroni ;  all  seem  equally  to  regard 
carriage  exercise  as  a  thing  essential  to  their  very  exist- 
ence. In  the  excitement,  speed  seems  to  be  the  main  ob- 
ject, and  the  old  Scotch  proverb  of  ^'  Dc'il  take  the  hind- 
most,'' the  universal  apprehension ;  and  for  this  the  mer- 
ciless driver  forgetful  of  the  value  of  his  horse  (if  such  a 
looking  scare-crow  can  have  value,)  belabors  his  lean  and 
panting  sides  with  a  merciless  perseverance  that  can  only 
be  witnessed  at  Naples.  If  there  is  a  place  on  the  earth's 
surface,  where  a  society  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to 
animals  should  be  forthwith  organized^  it  is  most  certainly 
Naples.  I  have  heard  of  the  wit,  who  rebuked  the  cruelty 
of  a  London  cab-driver  by  an  humorous  allusion  to  the 
transmigration  of  souls — "That's  right,  my  fine  fellow, 
(quoth  he)  hit  your  animal  harder,  he  was  a  cab-driver 
once  himself,  and  deserves  it  ^11."  This  rebuke  might 
be  uttered  every  hour  of  the  day,  with  more  reason  in 
Naples. 

Naples  literally  swarms  with  priests.  It  is  said  that 
there  are  at  least  six  thousand;  while  wkh  nuns  and 
novitiates,  the  religious  force  amounts  to  more  than  ten 
thousand.  Indeed  priests  and  soldiers  seem  to  be  the 
controlling  powers  of  the  place.  The  lawyers  number  four 
thousand,  and  are  a  wealthy  and  highly  influential  class, 
having   peculiar   privileges  —  enjoying   the   oysters,    and 


226  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

throwing  the  people  the  shells,  and  in  consequence  of  the 
extreme  length  of  the  lawsuits,  holding  in  their  hands  a 
large  portion  of  the  real  estate.  The  nobles  are  opulent, 
and  fond  of  display ;  and  the  King  is  as  complete  a  despot, 
and  as  great  a  fool  as  ever  sat  upon  a  throne.  But  it  is 
the  priests  and  friars  especially,  which  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  traveler,  for  you  cannot  take  a  walk  of  half  an 
hour  in  any  of  the  principal  streets,  without  meeting  forty 
or  fifty  of  them  in  their  peculiar  costume.  Multitudes  of 
friars,  in  their  brown  gowns,  and  black  cowls  with  girdled 
waists  and  sandalled  feet,  may  be  seen  gliding  along  the 
streets  particularly  in  the  morning,  collecting  from  shops 
and  stalls  their  daily  revenue  of  charity.  Some  of  the 
priests  are  exceedingly  handsome  men,  very  few  look 
ascetic.  Some  are  evidently  good-natured,  jolly,  easy 
souls,  who  belong  rather  to  the  race  of  King  Cole,  than  of 
Saint  Anthony,  fulfilling  Thompson's  idea  of  "  the  round 
fat  oily  man  of  God" — while  the  great  mass  of  the  lower 
clergy  are  good-for-nothing  fellows^  as  much  lazzaroni  and 
beggars  as  any  of  the  lowest  of  the  rabble.  In  witnessing 
the  noise  and  confusion  of  the  streets  of  Naples,  one  is 
astonished  to  find  so  much  life  and  activity  in  a  people, 
so  proverbial  for  their  indolence  and  laziness.  But  what 
are  they  all  about,  whither  arc  they  rushing  ?  Have  they  no 
definite  object — no  particular  motive  for  all  this  activity? 
As  a  general  thing,  no !  And  thus  day  after  day,  they 
rush  backward  and  forward  from  one  extremity  of  the  city 
to  another,  heedless  of  everything,  and  in  their  wild 
enjoyment  of  the  present  hour,  the  most  reckless,  trifling, 
and  abandoned  people  under  the  sun. 

But  one  soon  tires  of  the  constant  noise  and  excitement 
of  this  strange,  restless  city,  and  longs  to  fly  from  the  stir 


POMPEH.  227 

and  turmoil  to  tlie  numerous  and  cbarming  localities  to  be 
found  in  its  immediate  vicinity. 

But,  chief  above  all,  do  you  long  to  visit  that  memora- 
ble spot,  Pompeii.  This  partially  exhumed  city  is  located 
about  twelve  miles  from  Naples,  on  the  railway  to  Castella 
Mare,  just  where  it  branches  off  to  Nocera.  A  hillock, 
partly  formed  by  the  shower  of  ashes  which  buried,  and 
now  heaped  still  higher  by  the  dirt  thrown  out  from  the 
excavations ;  at  the  southern  declivity  of  Vesuvius,  and 
five  miles  from  its  base;  marks  the  interesting  locality, 
where  '  antiquity  was,  as  it  were,  caught  alive/  For  there, 
the  progress  of  time  and  decay  has  been  arrested,  and  we 
are  admitted  to  the  temples  and  theatres,  and  the  domestic 
privacy  of  a  people,  who  lived  nearly  two  thousand 
years  ago. 

"At  a  step. 
Two  thousand  years  roll  backward,  and  we  stand 
Like  those  so  long  within  that  awful  place, 
Immovable." 

If  even  the  most  doubtful  ruin  of  antiquity  appears  clad 
with  venerable  grandeur^  what  rank  shall  we  assign  in  the 
scale  of  interest  to  the  site,  where  objects  like  that  en- 
chanted city,  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  were  in  one  moment 
transfixed  in  their  accidental  situations : 

"  Mark  where  within,  as  though  the  embers  lived, 
The  ample  chimney  vault,  is  dun  with  smoke  j 
There  dwelt  a  miller  —  silent  and  at  rest 
His  mill  stones  now,  in  old  companionship, 
Still  do  they  stand,  as  on  the  day  he  went, 
Each  ready  for  its  office.    But  he  comes  not. 
And  there,  hard  by  (whereon  in  idleness 
Hath  stopped  to  scrawl  a  ship,  an  armed  ma 
And  in  the  tablet  on  the  wall,  we  read  of 


228  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Shows  ere  long  to  be ;)  a  sculptor  wrought 

Not  meanly,  blocks,  half  chiseled  into  life, 

Await  his  call.    Here  long,  as  still  attests 

The  trodden  floor,  an  olive  merchant  drew 

From  many  an  earthen  jar,  no  more  supplied. 

And  here,  from  his,  a  vinter  served  his  guests 

Largely,  the  stain  of  his  o'erflowing  cups 

Still  fresh  upon  the  marble ;  on  that  bench  beneath, 

They  sat,  and  quaffed,  and  looked  on  them  that  passed, 

Gravely  discussing  the  last  news  from  Rome." 

Pompeii  was  a  little  Greek  town,  of  toleratle  commerce 
in  its  early  day.  The  Mediterranean  sea,  which  once 
washed  its  walls — subsequently,  from  the  effects  of  an 
earthquake,  or  some  local  convulsion,  left  it  a  mile  and 
more  away,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  those  delicious  plains, 
made  by  nature  for  the  complete  extinguishment  of  all 
industry  in  the  Italian  dweller,  and  for  the  common  places 
of  poetry  and  prose,  in  all  the  northern  abusers  of  the  pen. 
It  was  ravaged  by  every  barbarian,  who  in  turn  was  called 
a  conqueror  —  and  was  successively  the  pillage  of  Cartha- 
genian  and  Roman,  until  at  last  the  Augustan  age,  which 
cast  such  radiance  over  Rome — saw  it  quieted  into  an 
effeminate,  and  luxurious  Roman  colony — and  man,  fearing 
to  rob^  ceased  to  rob  any  more. 

When  man  had  ceased  his  molestations,  nature  com- 
menced hers ;  and  this  unfortunate  little  city  was,  by  a 
curious  fate  to  be  extinguished,  yet  preserved  —  to  perish 
suddenly  from  the  face  of  the  astonished  Roman  Empire, 
and  live  again  when  Rome  was  but  a  nest  of  sandalled 
monks,  and  superstitious  mummers;  and  her  Empire 
torn  into  fragments,  by  Turk.  Russian,  Austrian,  Prussian, 
and  a  whole  host  of  barbaric  names,  that  once  were  as 
dust  beneath  her  feet. 


POMPEII.  229 

In  tlie  year  63  of  the  Christian  era,  an  earthquake 
manifested  to  the  afiFrighted  Pompeians,  upon  what  a  frail 
tenure  they  held  their  leases  —  whole  streets  were  thrown 
down,  columns  started  from  their  bases,  statues  fell  from 
their  pedestals;  and  to  this  day  the  traveler  is  shown  the 
evidences  of  hasty  repair,  marking  the  first  calamity. 

It  was  the  first  warning  to  that  depraved  and  dissolute 
city,  of  the  "bolt,  red  with  uncommon  wrath,"  soon  to  be 
launched  with  all  its  force,  amid  a  fiery  whirlwind  of  stones, 
lava,  and  ashes.  On  the  23d  of  August,  in  the  year 
79,  Vesuvius  poured  out  his  accumulation  of  terrors  at 
once — and  in  the  clearing  away  of  the  storm  of  fiery  dust 
which  covered  Campania  for  four  days  —  Pompeii,  with  all 
its  living  multitude  —  its  magnificent  temples,  theatres, 
palaces  and  baths,  its  walls  of  arabesque,  and  columns, 
clustering  in  patrician  splendor,  had  disappeared  from  the 
earth's  surface ;  and  a  smoking  heap,  was  the  grave  of  that 
buried  city. 

The  ancient  Romans  seem  to  have  been  as  fond  of  villas 
as  if  every  soul  of  them  had  made  fortunes  in  Wall  street : 
and  the  whole  southern  coast  of  Italy,  like  Staten  Island, 
although  far  surpassing  it  in  architectural  magnificence, 
was  studded  with  the  summer  palaces  and  iris-hued  gar- 
dens of  these  masters  of  the  world.  The  site  of  Vesuvius 
would  now  be  rather  a  formidable  foundation  for  a  villa, 
whose  owner  might  any  morning,  be  found  with  his  villa 
done  to  a  turn,  in  a  bed  of  hot  ashes.  But  before  the 
eruption  that  covered  Pompeii  with  ashes,  and  Hercula- 
neum  with  lava,  the  mountain  was  asleep,  and  had  never 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant,  rumbled,  or 
flung  up  spark  or  stone.  Its  verdant  slopes  were  then 
covered  with  elegant  villas  and  gardens.  Martial  has  a 
U 


230  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

pretty  epigram,  in  which  he  gives  us  a  view  of  Vesuvius, 
as  he  appeared  before  this  terrible  eruption : 

"Here  ver^.ant  vines  o'erspread  Vesuvius  sides. 
The  generous  grape,  here  poured  her  purple  tides. 
This  Bacchus  loved,  beyond  his  native  scene. 
Here  dancing  satyrs  joyed  to  trip  the  green." 

To  those  who  look  upon  Vesuvius  now,  grim,  blasted, 
and  lifting  up  his  sooty  forehead  among  clouds  of  perpe- 
tual smoke,  the  very  throne  of  Pluto  and  Vulcan  toge- 
ther; no  force  of  fancy  can  picture  what  it  must  have 
been,  when  the  Romans  built  their  summer  palaces  and 
pavilions  on  its  verdant  slopes — a  pyramid  of  more  than 
three  thousand  feet — painted  over  with  forest,  garden, 
vineyard  and  orchard — zoned  with  colonnades,  turrets, 
golden  roofs,  and  marble  porticoes,  with  the  deep  azure  of 
the  Campanian  sky  for  its  canopy,  the  classic  Mediterranean 
washing  its  base ;  and  the  whole  glittering  in  the  colors  of 
sunrise,  noon  and  evening,  like  the  "  rich  and  high  piled 
woof  of  Persia's  looms,''  let  down  from  the  steps  of  some 
heaven-lifted  and  resplendant  throne. 

All  this  magnificence  was  turned  into  cinders,  lava,  and 
hot  water,  in  the  year  of  the  Christian  era,  79.  The  hiss- 
ing streams  of  lava,  like  fiery  snakes,  ran  hither  and  thither 
down  the  slopes  of  the  mountain;  scorching  and  consuming 
every  thing  in  their  glowing  pathway — while  the  mountain 
hurled  high  in  air  the  red  hot  lava,  and  the  sulphurous 
ashes,  with  a  noise  that  shook  the  very  firmament.  The 
entire  continent  throughout  its  northern  and  southern 
range,  felt  the  vigorous  awakening  of  the  volcano.  Imperial 
Rome,  hundreds  of  miles  away,  was  covered  with  the  ashes ; 
of  which  Northern  Africa,  Egypt  and  Asia  Minor  received 
their  full  share — the  sun  was  turned  into  blood,  and  the 


POMPEII.  231 

people  very  naturally  thought  that  the  end  of  the  world 
had  come.  Well  might  Pliny  the  Younger  say  in  his  letter 
to  the  historian  Tacitus, — "Nothing  then  was  to  be  heard 
but  the  shrieks  of  women,  the  screams  of  children,  and  the 
cries  of  men.  Some  calling  for  their  children,  others  for 
their  parents;  others  for  their  husbands;  and  only  distin- 
guishing each  other  by  their  voices :  one  lamenting  his 
own  fate,  another  that  of  his  family  —  some  lifting  their 
hands  to  the  gods;  but  the  greater  part  imagining  that 
the  last  and  eternal  night  was  come,  which  was  to  destroy 
the  gods  and  the  world  together." 

At  the  close  of  this  first  fearful  eruption,  Vesuvius 
loomed  forth,  the  grim-looking  giant  he  is  at  this  hour.  The 
sky  was  stained  with  that  white  cloud,  which  still  reposes 
like  a  halo  on  the  mountain's  scarred  and  shattered  brow. 
The  plain  at  his  foot,  where  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii 
shone  forth  in  all  their  beauty,  was  covered  many  feet  deep, 
with  a  debris  of  ashes  and  lava,  while  the  smoke  of  the 
country  "  went  up  as  the  smoke  of  a  furnace." 

All  was  at  an  end  with  the  once  busy,  bustling  cities 
below,  the  people  were  destroyed  or  scattered — their  houses 
and  homes  buried.  Bobbers  and  malaria  remained  the 
sole  tenants  of  the  desolate  spot,  and  in  this  way  rolled 
many  centuries  over  the  bones  and  houses  of  the  vinters, 
sailors,  and  snug  citizens  of  these  Vesuvian  cities.  But 
their  time  was  to  come,  and  the  coveriDg  under  which 
they  had  reposed  so  long  was  to  be  perforated  by  Neapoli- 
tan and  French  picks — their  private  haunts,  and  public 
places,  visited  by  curiosity-mongers,  and  sketched,  lectured, 
and  written  about^  until  two-thirds  of  the  world  wished 
they  had  never  been  disturbed. 

The  first  discovery  of  the  buried  cities  was  purely  acci- 


232  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

dental,  for  no  Neapolitan  ever  stuck  spade  into  the  ground 
on  purpose,  or  in  real  earnest,  or  eyer  harbored  a  voluntary 
idea  about  any  thing  save  of  macaroni,  intrigue,  monkeys^ 
hand-organs,  and  the  gaming-table.  The  Neapolitan  spade, 
thus  accidentally  feeling  its  way  into  the  earth,  struck 
upon  a  key — the  key  belonged  to  a  door-— the  door  bore 
an  inscription — and  the  names  of  the  buried  cities  were 
brought  to  light  to  the  boundless  perplexity  of  the  learned, 
the  merciless  curiosity  of  "females,  darkly,  deeply,  beau- 
tifully blue,"  and  to  the  exorbitant  profit,  of  that  whole 
rascal  rout  of  guides,  ciceroni,  abbes,  and  antiquarians. 

But  notwithstanding  this  discovery,  the  cities  slumbered 
for  twenty  years  more,  until  about  the  year  1711,  a  Duke 
digging  for  marbles,  to  burn  in  a  mortar,  with  which  to 
make  lime,  found  a  statue  of  an  Hercules,  a  perfect  heap 
of  fractured  beauties,  a  row  of  Greek  columns,  and  a  small 
temple.  Again,  the  cities  slumbered,  when  in  1738,  a 
King  of  Naples,  upon  whom  'Might  may  the  earth  rest," 
commenced  digging  in  earnest  at  Pompeii,  when  streets, 
temples,  and  theatres,  once  more  lay  open  to  the  sun. 

So  few  details  of  the  original  catastrophe  are  to  be  found 
in  history,  that  we  can  scarcely  estimate  the  actual  amount 
of  suffering,  which  is,  after  all,  the  only  thing  in  this  case, 
to  be  considered  a  misfortune.  The  population  of  Pompeii 
at  least,  and  perhaps  of  Herculaneum,  with  some  few 
exceptions,  had  time  to  make  their  escape  with  their 
property  j  at  least  the  most  costly.  A  pedlar's  pack,  would 
r  am  certain,  contain  all  the  valuables  in  the  way  of  gold, 
money  and  jewelry,  found  in  Pompeii ;  and  the  people  who 
had  thus  time  to  clear  their  premises,  must  have  been 
most  singularly  fond  of  hazard,  if  they  stood  lingering 
long,  beneath  that  fiery  shower. 

Some  melancholy  evidences  were,  it  is  true,  'found,  to 


POMPEII.  288 

show  that  all  were  not  so  successful,  or  at  least  so  prudent. 
And  yet  sixty  skeletons  are  all  that  have  been  discovered, 
and  certainly  more  than  one  third  of  the  city  has  been 
excavated. 

In  the  excavations,  made  by  the  French,  four  female 
skeletons  were  found,  lying  together,  with  the  ornaments, 
still  upon  their  arms  and  fingers,  and  grasping  in  their 
fleshless  gripe  a  few  coins  of  gold  and  silver. 

In  a  wine  vault,  known  by  the  jars  ranged  round  its 
walls,  close  against  the  door,  as  if  in  the  attitude  of  trying 
to  force  it  open,  stood  a  male  skeleton,  who  had  thus 
perished,  in  a  vain  effort  to  save  himself  from  a  death  by 
suffocation,  or  the  more  lingering  one  of  starvation.  In 
a  prison,  or  guard  house,  with  their  skeleton  limbs  still 
fast  in  the  stocks,  and  their  eyeless  skulls  peering  out  from 
their  brazen  helmets,  sat  six  Pompeian  soldiers,  who  had 
thus  perished  in  a  cruel  companionship  of  misery. 

Beside  the  garden  gate  of  the  Villa  of  Diomed  just  be- 
yond the  walls,  two  skeletons  were  discovered,  one  pre- 
sumed to  be  the  master,  from  having  in  his  hand  the  key 
of  the  gate,  the  other  stretched  beside  him,  with  some 
silver  vases,  probably  a  poor  slave,  charged  with  the  trans- 
port of  them.  In  the  cellar,  the  skeletons  of  seventeen 
persons  were  found  huddled  together,  who  had  here  in  vain 
sought  an  asylum  from  the  fiery  shower.  From  the  cir- 
cumstance of  one  of  those  skeletons,  that  of  a  woman,  being 
adorned  with  a  necklace,  and  bracelets  of  gold,  it  has  with 
good  reason  been  supposed,  that  this  was  the  mistress  of 
the  elegant  mansion,  and  the  print  of  her  bosom  as  it 
pressed  against  the  wall,  may  be  seen,  as  if  taken  in  plas- 
ter, in  the  halls  of  the  Museo  Borbonico  at  this  day. 

Close  to  the  gate  of  Herculaneum,  in  a  niche,  was  found 
ij2 


28i  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

the  skeleton  of  a  man,  standing  erect,  with  his  armor  and 
helmet  on,  and  spear  in  hand.  It  was  the  Roman  sentinel 
at  the  city  gate,  faithful  in  death,  as  in  life,  a  melancholy 
memento  of  the  stern  discipline  of  martial  Rome  : 

On  —  on,  the  human  tides,  rush  through  the  gates. 
While  the  red  mountain,  blazing  full  in  view, 
That  Roman  sentinel,  doth  contemplate: 
Motionless  as  a  statue,  thus  he  grew. 
Composed  his  face,  though  livid  in  its  hue. 
Sternness  with  awe,  in  his  undaunted  eyej 
Vainly  the  fiery  tempest  round  him  flew. 
He,  like  the  herd,  had  not  been  taught  to  fly  j 
Scathed,  blasted  at  his  post,  the  warrior  stood  to  die." 

He  stands  now,  just  as  he  was  found,  in  the  Museum 
at  Naples;  and  I  never  passed  that  skeleton  in.  armor, 
but  I  felt  the  majesty  of  discipline,  and  a  respect  for  the 
courage  and  integrity  of  the  Roman  soldier,  who  had  thus 
nobly  sacrificed  himself  to  duty,  sealing  his  devotion,  by 
dying  at  his  post,  with  all  his  armor  on. 

Several  years  ago,  there  trod  the  lonely  streets  of 
Pompeii,  with  feeble  step  and  slow,  a  grey- haired  man. 
Physical  suffering,  and  mental  toil,  had  passed  their 
ploughshares  over  that  noble  brow,  with  a  subsoil  pressure. 
The  mind  within,  which  like  a  lamp  in  a  vase  of  alabaster 
had  once  "illumed'*  that  fine  old  face,  was  burning  dimly 
now,  or  only  flickered  up  with  a  sort  of  supernatural  light, 
as  dying  lamps  will,  just  before  they  are  extinguished. 
The  powers  that  had  so  long  delighted  the  world,  recalling 
past  ages  and  manners  with  such  vividness,  that  men 
believed  he  had  found  the  enchanter's  wand  of  the  great 
wizard  of  his  house,  were  now  all  gone.  But  as  that  old 
man  paced  mournfully  through  the  deserted  streets,  and 


POMPEII.  235 

by  the  hearth-stones,  cold  and  cheerless,  of  the  exhumed 
city,  his  head  drooped  upon  his  noble  chest,  and  he  mur- 
mured, "  Take  me  away  from  this ;  take  me  away  from 
this;  His  the  City  of  the  Dead;  the  City  of  the  Dead"  — 
then  wept  like  a  child. 

Volumes  might  be  written  on  Pompeii,  and  yet  they 
would  only  be  to  realize,  and  carry  out  this  brief,  but 
comprehensive  summary,  this  profound  impression  which 
Pompeii  left  upon  the  mind  of  the  great  "  Wizard  of  the 
North." 

But  there  is  nothing  dark  or  noisome  in  this  City  of 
the  Dead.  It  is  only  sad,  because  without  inhabitant  — 
and  from  the  recollection  of  the  temble  fate  that  so  sud- 
denly overwhelmed  it.  It  still  all  looks  bright  and  fresh, 
and  beautiful — the  gay  paintings  on  the  walls  —  the 
marble  fountains,  which  seem  about  to  play,  with  their 
inlaid  basins  of  the  rich  and  varied  sea  shell — its  atriums, 
with  their  beautiful  mosaic  pavements  —  its  classic  peri- 
styles, its  cubiculas,  or  alcoves  for  sleeping,  its  vestibules 
with  their  hospitable  welcomes,  inlaid  in  mosaic  upon  the 
threshold,  inviting  you  to  enter  —  and  the  deep  blue  sky 
of  Italy  smiling  over  all.  There  is  so  little  of  ruin  or 
desolation,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term.  Even  the 
very  tombs,  along  the  famous  street  that  leads  out  of  the 
Herculaneum  gate,  would  hardly  look  mournful,  did  we 
not  feel  that  the  pious  crowds,  who  once  daily  issued  from 
that  gate,  would  never  more  come,  to  scatter  chaplets  and 
flowers  on  the  last  resting  place  of  those  they  loved  on 
earth;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  a  deep  feeling  of 
melancholy  will  steal  over  you,  and  you  can  partially  com- 
prehend the  emotions  of  the  great  poet,  and  novelist,  as 
you  proceed   through  lonely  and  noiseless  streets;  and 


236  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

enter  mansion  after  mansion  alike  tenantless  and  deserted. 
Where  are  the  crowds  that  once  thronged,  or  the  owners 
that  once  possessed  them  ?  At  first  you  almost  hesitate  to 
enter  uninvited — and  every  moment  expect  some  member 
of  the  family  to  come  forth,  and  rebuke  the  intrusion; 
but  vain  is  the  thought.     You  pass  from  house  to  house. 

"  Vacant  each  chamber, 

Deserted  each  hall 

Quiet  oblivion,  reigns  o'er  all." 

You  search  the  empty  chambers,  but  no  footfall  is  heard 
on  the  echoing  pavement,  but  your  own  and  companions; 
no  voice  responds  to  yours  but  that  of  those  who  have 
accompanied  you.  You  pause  and  meditate,  and  Sir  Walter 
Scott's  commentary  is  upon  your  lips,  "'tis  the  City  of 
the  Dead  — the  City  of  the  Dead." 

Immediately  above  the  buildings  that  have  been  exca- 
vated^ the  ground  rises  like  a  gentle  swell,  as  if  to  shelter 
the  houses  below;  while  vines  in  their  more  luxuriant 
graces,  wave  from  tree  to  tree,  springing  from  the  soil, 
that  still  covers  the  greater  part  of  the  city  with  vegetation, 
and  forming  with  the  dark  brown  masses  below,  a  singular 
and  most  affecting  contrast. 

Let  us  enter  for  a  hasty  stroll  on  the  side  facing  the 
Mediterranean.  It  is  the  street  of  the  silver-smiths;  and 
those  large  irregular  blocks  of  lava,  in  which  thfi  chariot 
wheels  have  worn  ruts,  still  plainly  discernible,  look  almost 
as  fresh  as  the  day  they  were  fixed  there  by  the  Pompeian 
paviors.  It  is  a  narrow  street,  and  you  can  cross  it  at  a 
stride;  but  on  each  side  is  a  well  dressed  curb  bounding 
the  edge  of  a  pavement,  that  would  do  credit  to  any  city 
of  modern  times.  Mark  how  the  footpath,  between  the 
curb  and  the  line  of  houses  is  filled  up  with  earth,  upon 


POMPEII.  '  287 

which  a  hard  casing  of  stucco  is  all  unnoticed  by  the  wear 
of  feet  and  time,  and  looks  as  if  it  might  still  stand,  the 
restless  tread  of  countless  generations.  Where  is  the 
modern  skill  that  can  lay  such  a  pavement  as  that? 
Asphaltum  has  been  tried,  and  in  a  few  years  it  had  more 
holes  than  wholeness.  The  deposit  of  stucco  is  by  no 
means  thick,  and  yet  it  bears  no  traces,  of  the  wear  of  the 
thoiisand  feet  that  must  so  oft  have  pressed  it. 

A  few  steps  from  where  we  have  entered,  brings  us  to 
the  southwest  corner  of  the  Pompeian  Forum,  where 
cluster  as  round  a  common  centre,  the  relics  of  most  of 
the  public  edifices  of  Pompeii. 

The  remains  of  that  building  on  our  right,  was  onc§*the 
Basilica  of  Pompeii,  answering. to  our  more  modern  Court 
House.  You  approach  it  through  a  vestibule,  and  from 
the  vestibule,  there  is  an  ascent,  by  a  broad  flight  of  steps 
to  the  Hall  of  Justice  itself.  There  appears  to  have  been 
two  rows  of  noble  fluted  columns  at  its  sides,  and  one  row 
on  each  end,  supporting  its  vaulted  roof.  This  Hall  must 
have  been  quite  grand  in  its  proportions,  being  of  a  single 
story,  with  an  arched  ceiling.  Along  the  upper  space  of 
the  shafts  of  those  side  rows  of  fluted  columns,  is  still  dis- 
cernible, the  traces  of  a  gallery,  from  which  spectators 
could  have  a  full  view  of  the  proceedings  below.  At  the 
south  end  of  this  noble  Hall,  is  still  standing  "the 
Tribune,"  elevated  several  feet  from  the  floor,  and  once 
ascended  by  a  flight  of  steps.  This  was  the  lofty  position  of 
the  Judge  or  Praetor,  from  which  he  heard  and  decided 
causes.  It  must  have  been  a  court  of  criminal  jurisdiction, 
as  below  the  floor  of  this  Tribune,  which  has  evidently 
been  of  mosaic,  are  small  dungeons,  no  doubt  used  for  the 
temporary  confinement  of  prisoners ;  and  the  holes  are  still 


238  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

discernible,  through  which  orders  were  communicated  by 
the  Judge  to  the  keeper  below.  Those  side  rooms,  on 
the  right  and  left  of  the  Tribune,  served,  no  doubt,  as 
robing  rooms  for  the  the  minister  of  justice  and  for  the 
officers  of  the  Court.  The  external  walls  of  this  edifice 
are  quite  plain;  but  in  the  interior,  courses  of  masonry 
are  represented  in  stucco,  painted  with  various  colors,  in 
imitation  of  marble.  The  large  fluted  sides  and  front 
columns,  which  once  supported  the  roof,  and  portico,  are 
of  singular  construction;  being  formed  of  pieces  of  brick 
and  tufa,  radiating  from  a  common  centre.  These,  as  well 
as  the  walls,  are  covered  with  a  stucco,  that  has  the  ap- 
pearance of  marble,  with  all  its  hardness,  and  certainly 
with  more  of  its  polish.  The  art  of  constructing  so  durable 
a  cement,  has  certainly  passed  away  from  the  world.  This 
building,  two  hundred  and  twenty  feet  in  length,  and 
ninety  in  breadth,  must  have  been  a  splendid  edifice  when 
perfect.  Boast  as  we  may  of  our  wealth,  enterprise  and 
architectural  skill — such  a  plan  of  a  Court  House  in  our 
day,  laid  before  a  Board  of  County  Freeholders,  would  be 
received,  with  about  as  much  ceremony,  as  a  bombshell 
with  a  lighted  fusee,  should  it  fall  in  the  centre  of  the 
table,  round  which  the  astute  guardians  of  the  county  hold 
such  profound  deliberations.  The  solitary  columns  of  this 
ancient  temple  of  justice,  still  stand,  mute  witnesses  of  the 
architectural  proportion  and  beauty  of  the  perfect  edifice. 
The  marble  slabs  of  the  ancient  pavement,  worn  by  the 
hurrying  feet  of  patron  and  client  are  still  there.  On  the 
walls  the  loafing  idlers  about  the  court  room,  have  scratched 
the  initials  of  their  names,  and  'some  rude  caricatures, 
showing  that  this  habit  of  defacing  public  places,  is  not 
original  with  us ;  and  was  a  Pompeian,  as  well  as  a  Yankee 


POMPEII.  289 

weakness,  and  vice.  The  Tribune,  from  which  so  oft  the 
stern  decrees  went  forth,  looks  almost  as  it  did,  when  the 
affrighted  judge  saw  for  the  first  time,  the  fiery  shower 
hurled  forth  by  the  volcano,  and  gathering  up  his  robes 
about  him,  fled  from  the  judgment  seat.  In  the  dungeon 
beneath,  a  solitary  skeleton  was  found — that  of  some  poor 
prisoner  awaiting  in  terror,  perhaps,  an  earthly  sentence ; 
only  to  be  still  more  astounded  by  finding  himself  before 
that  dread  tribunal,  from  whose  decrees  there  is,  and  can 
be  no  appeal. 

Passing  on  north  of  this  Basilica,  and  on  the  same  side 
of  the  open  space  of  the  Forum,  we  come  to  what  is  known 
as  the  Temple  of  Venus.  The  remains  of  the  Temple,  are 
considerably  elevated  from  the  street,  upon  a  huge  base  of 
masonry.  The  large  altar  still  stands  with  a  black  stone 
upon  it,  containing  three  depressions  for  fire,  in  which 
were  found  the  ashes  of  the  victims,  that  had  last  Bmoked 
before  the  fane.  There  is  an  inscription,  still  very  legible 
on  the  sides  of  this  altar,  recording  that  it  was  erected  at 
the  expense  of  M.  Fortius,  Lucius  Sextelius  and  Caius  and 
Augustus  Cornelius ;  within  its  penetralia,  directly  behind 
the  altar,  was  found  the  beautiful  and  graceful  statue  of 
Venus,  now  adorning  the  Hall  of  the  Museo  Borbonico  at 
Naples.  On  its  walls,  were  fine  frescoes  painted  in  rich 
colors,  on  a  dark  ground  — all  of  which  have  been  removed 
to  the  Museum  aforesaid.  With  one  of  these  frescoes  I 
was  particularly  struck  on  a  visit  to  this  grand  receptacle 
of  the  wonders  of  art  taken  from  the  buried  city.  It 
pictured  Bacchus,  as  a  handsome  youth,  leaning  on  the 
shoulder  of  old  Silenus,  who  is  represented  by  a  stout, 
dwarf-like  figure,  bald-headed  and  bearded ;  the  lower 
limbs  draped,  holding  a  lyre  in  his  left  hand,  and  having 
a  basket  of  fruit  at  his  feet.     Bacchus  has  a  fine  juvenile 


240  POREIdN  ETCHINGS. 

head  covered  with  flowing  curls,  and  a  body  and  counte- 
nance, perfectly  radiant  with  youthful  beauty.  He  holds 
the  emblematic  thyrsus  in  his  left  hand,  and  in  his  right 
a  double  handled  vase,  out  of  which  he  is  pouring  a  liba- 
tion. This  picture  was  not  only  interesting  to  me  from 
the  wonderful  power  of  its  execution,  but  because  I  could 
discern  a  beautiful  allegory  shadowed  forth  in  the  design. 
Bacchus,  as  a  child,  was  entrusted  to  the  care  of  the  aged 
Silenus.  The  advent  of  the  young  god  was  ushered  in,  as 
the  bringer  of  healing,  and  the  long  expected  founder  of  a 
better  state  of  things.  The  ancients  seemed  to  take  great 
delight  in  bringing  together  the  aged  Silenus,  and  the 
youthful  god,  both  in  pictorial  representations,  and  in 
statuary.  And  as  we  read  that  Moses  was  only  permitted 
to  gaze  upon  the  promised  land,  from  Pisgah's  summit, 
where  he  was  to  die — so,  in  all  these  representations  of 
the  ancients,  one  sees  the  aged  man  under  the  character 
of  Silenus,  his  face  radiant  with  serene  joy,  absorbed  in 
the  better  fate  awaiting  the  coming  generation.  It  is  the 
serene  joy  observed  in  those  alone,  who  amid  the  tumults 
of  earth,  have  learned  to  purify  all  selfish  feeling,  and  to 
find  satisfaction  in  the  contemplation  of  the  coming  welfare 
and  happiness  of  the  race. 

Directly  opposite  this  Temple  of  Venus,  you  enter 
through  what  was  once  an  arched  gateway  of  the  colonnade 
surrounding  the  open  area  of  the  Pompeian  Forum.  How 
silent  in  ita  desolation  is  this  space;  once  crowded  by 
the  busy  groups,  drawn  hither  by  business,  pleasure,  or 
recreation.  From  that  fragment  of  a  rostrum  the  orator 
declaimed  to  the  excited  populace.  Through  that  trium- 
phal arch,  the  stately  procession  has  often  swept,  as  it  bore 
onward  the  laurelled  conqueror  to  the  Temple  of  Jove, 


POMPEII.  241 

Yonder  is  the  spot,  where  Augustus  Caesar  stood,  when 
thousands  bowed  the  knee  and  hailed  him  as  a  god,  and 
consecrated  that  Temple  whose  fragments  are  around  you, 
to  his  worship. 

At  the  head  of  the  Forum,  you  notice  the  remains  of 
the  temple  erected  to  Jove — the  ascent  to  it  has  once  been 
by  a  broad  flight  of  marble  steps,  and  the  sides  present  a 
solid  sur-basement,  on  which  still  stand  the  vacant  pedes- 
tals, once  ornamented  with  splendid  statues. 

From  the  lofty  steps  of  this  temple,  the  view,  before  the 
fiery  shower  fell  upon  the  devoted  city,  must  have  been 
superb.  Along  ^ach  side^  amongst  the  fragments  of  the 
pillared  colonnades,  may  still  be  seen  rows  of  pedestals, 
from  which  marble  statues  once  looked  down  upon  the 
hurrying  crowd  below.  On  the  right  hand,  the  spectator 
would  have  had  the  beautiful  temple  of  Venus,  with  its 
brazen  roof  and  elegant  portico;  and  the  grand  Basilica, 
with  an  arched  roof  supported  by  its  double  rows  of  clus- 
tered columns.  On  the  left  the  temple  of  Augustus,  with 
the  Pantheon  of  the  great  gods  of  Rome,  each  upon  his 
magnificent  pedestal,  and  all  uniting  in  the  guardianship 
of  the  city.  There  too,  was  the  temple  of  Mercury,  and 
the  place  of  the  Decurions-^-whilc  equestrian  statues  crown^ 
ed  the  summits  of  the  sculptured  gateways,  that  faced  the 
temple. 

The  temple  of  Augustus  seems  to  have  been  built  round 
an  open  square — in  its  centre,  in  majestic  silence  stood  th<! 
twelve  divinities  of  Rome.  Those  small  chambers,  looking 
like  cloistered  cells,  were  the  residences  of  the  numerous 
priests  who  ministered  at  the  many  altars. 

At  one  end  you  may  notice  three  divisions,  in  which  were 
found  the  statues  of  Nero  and  Messaiina,  now  at  the  Museum 
Y 


242  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

in  Naples.  In  another,  still  stands  the  sacrificial  altar, 
highly  decorated  with  paintings ;  one  of  which  represents 
in  an  excellent  state  of  preservation^  a  female  artist  with 
pallet  and  brushes,  such  exactly  as  are  used  at  the  present 
day.  Here  we  have  a  fresco,  representing  a  Roman  war- 
galley,  filled  with  men,  armed  with  long  spears  and  shields 
and  rowed  by  more  than  forty  oars  —  and  there  a  still 
more  curious  fresco  attracts  attention,  representing  a 
number  of  little  cupids  making  bre^d^  with  a  mill  for 
grinding  flour  standing  by  them ;  and  in  that  chamber, 
once  used  as  a  dining  hall  for  the  priests,  you  may  notice 
various  culinary  utensils,  and  materials  *of  a  banquet,  in- 
cluding fish,  lobsters,  birds,  eggs,  «&c.,  painted  on  the  walls, 
with  great  truthfulness  to  nature. 

Adjoining  this  temple  to  Augustus  within  an  area, 
stand  the  remains  of  a  small  temple ;  it  was  once  a  temple 
to  Mercury — in  front  of  it  is  an  altar  of  white  marble, 
bearing  an  unfinished  bas-relief,  supposed  to  be,  in  the 
principal  figure,  a  representation  of  Cicero  sacrificing,  from 
the  resemblance  to  that  orator.  The  workmen,  were 
engaged  in  repairing  this  temple,  when  they  were  com- 
pelled to  desist,  and  fly  for  their  lives;  the  rude  dash  of 
the  mortar,  and  the  traces  where  the  trowel  has  left  off  to 
smooth,  are  still  discernible  on  one  of  the  columns. 

The  Temple  of  Isis  is  magnified  in  description :  and  by 
no  means  remarkable.  The  staircase,  passage,  and  the 
situation  of  the  statue,  are  pointed  out  as  very  mysterious : 
and  it  is  said  that  the  priests  ascended  the  secret  stairs, 
and  by  means  of  the  concealed  passage  were  able  to  give 
out  oracles  to  the  people.  The  present  priests  of  the 
country  speak  ill  of  their  predecessors;  but  why  should 
they  speak  ill  of  them  ?  the  best  part  of  their  splendid 


POMPEII.  249 

ritual  they  have  borrowed  from  the  'pagans.  There  is 
"  only  a  slight  distinction  without  a  difference/'  between 
the  idolatry  of  the  Pompeian  priesthood  and  that  which  still 
burns  incense  before  the  altar  in  the  modern  cathedral. 
At  all  events  these  poor  priests  of  Isis  were  good  disciples 
of  Epicurus;  they  were  at  dinner  in  the  refectory  when  the 
eruption  came,  and  would  not  leave  their  meal :  their 
skeletons  were  found,  amongst  egg-shells,  and  the  bones  of 
chickens  and  fish.  Our  Italian  guide  opened  his  large 
eyes  when  he  showed  us  the  altars ;  and  said,  "  Here  the 
priests  burned  the  bones  and  eat  the  flesh,  and  deceived 
the  people ;  the  poor  world  has  always  been  deceived,  and 
priests  have  always  been  the  same."  I  thought  if  the 
liberal  and  sensible  opinion  of  our  poor  guide  could  only 
become  a  little  more  general  in  Italy,  the  lazy  priests  and 
monks  might  be  made  useful,  and  in  spite  of  themselves, 
respectable.  Then  they  might  be  employed  in  scraping 
the  roads  and  cracking  stones,  instead  of  scraping  up  the 
worldly  substance  of  the  people,  and  trampling  under  foot 
all  liberal  and  enlightened  sentiment. 

Passing  through  that  Triumphal  Arch,  close  on  the 
right  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  a  few  steps  bring  you  to 
the  remains  of  the  principal  group  of  Public  Baths  of  the 
City.  The  ancients  certainly  seemed  to  understand  the 
virtues  of  cleanliness.  Much  time  was  lavished  in  the 
frequenting  of  the  public  baths.  No  expense  was  spared 
to  make  them  not  only  architecturally  an  ornament  to  the 
city ;  but  every  convenience  that  -could  be  conceived  of 
in  connection  with  the  object  to  which  they  were  dedicated, 
might  be  found  there. 

The  private  houses  of  the  Pompeians  were  small.  The 
house  of  Pansa  perhaps  was  the  largest  in  the  city.     They 


244  FOREigN  ETCHtNGS. 

usually  consist  of  but  one  story,  and  rarely  contain  more 
than  three  or  four  rooms.  The  houses  in  that  division  of 
the  City  whicli  terminates  at  the  Street  of  Tombs,  are  of  a 
much  more  splendid  description.  The  wealthiest  of  the 
citizens  seem  to  have  resided  here.  Each  mansion 
encloses  an  open  square  court,  with  a  marble  bath  or 
fountain  in  the  centre  :  the  pavement  either  marble  or 
mosaic,  surrounded  by  a  colonnade,  into  which  the  doors 
open.!  The  outer  walls  of  the  houses  are  generally  painted 
red  :  but  those  of  the  interior  are  much  more  varied  in 
their  decoration.  Small  pictures  representing  all  manner 
of  subjects,  ornament  the  centre  of  the  apartments;  sur- 
rounded by  little  borders,  imitative  sculpture,  tiny  columns, 
and  other  devices  oi  the  same  description,  all  in  fresco. 
In  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  mansion  of  Sallust,  the 
ghops  and  taverns  are  situated.  They  bear  a  striking 
resemblance  to  Italian  shops  of  the  present  day,  being 
entirely  open  in  front,  with  the  exception  of  a  low  wall 
which  forms  a  window-sill.  Upon  the  white  marble  of 
some  of  these  shop-counters,  circular  stains  may  be  die* 
tinctly  perceived,  as  if  a  cup  or  glass  had  here  been  care- 
lessly set  down;  and  in  others  large  broken  jars  of  terra 
cotta  were  found,  filled  with  oil  in  a  jellied  state.  The 
serpents  painted  on  the  walls  of  many  of  these  houses 
and  shops,  have  been  sometimes  said  to  designate  the 
medical  profession  of  the  occupiers ;  but  better  authorities 
assure  us  they  denote  the  protection  these  reptiles  were 
superstitiously  supposed  to  afford  to  their  health. 

As  you  leave  the  excavations  and  stand  upon  the 
elevated  soil,  heaped  above  the  buried  part  of  the  City  of 
Pompeii,  the  view  is  perfectly  enchanting.  Before  you  in 
Uie  distaucc  sweeps  the  spacious  Bay,  rocking  gently  iu 


POMPEII.  246 

the  light  of  an  Italian  sky,  as  it  were  azure  and  gold, 
woven  together  and  spread  like  a  thin  luminous  gauze 
over  the  trembling  waves,  which  bathe  the  green  margin 
of  the  wooded  hill.  Yonder  is  the  City  of  Naples,  with 
its  castles  and  palaces ;  and  far  out,  at  the  entrance  of  the 
Bay,  the  lofty  promontories  Sorrento  and  Misenum  — 
beyond  which  we  can  descry  Ischia  and  Procida.  There, 
for  several  miles  runs  the  fine  range  of  wooded  heights, 
terminating  in  the  rocky  bluiF  of  Pozzuoli,  and  the  low 
winding  shores  of  Baia,  intermingled  with  green  fields, 
olive  groves  and  vineyards.  Here  and  there  on  the  flash- 
ing waters,  white  sails  are  glancing  in  the  sunlight,  or 
diminishing  to  specks  in  the  hazy  distance  —  forming 
altogether  a  scene  of  unrivalled  interest  and  magnificence, 
justifying  those  lines  of  Byron  : 

"  Here  Nature  loved  to  trace 
As  if  for  god«,  a  dwelling  place." 


YZ 


CHAPTER  II. 

EXCURSION   TO  POZZUOLI  AND   BAIA. 

The  Grolto  of  Posilipo  —  Pozzuoli  —  The  Temple  of  Serapis  —  The 
Amphitheatre — The  Solfatara  —  Cicero's  Villa  —  Lake  Avernus  — 
Misenum  —  The  Tomb  of  Virgil. 

Naples  had  not  fairly  roused  itself  into  its  wonted 
restlessness  and  activity,  when  on  a  bright  spring  morning 
we  started  for  an  excursion  to  the  classic  shores  of  Baia. 
We  rattled  over  the  Chiaja,  and  by  th6  Villa  Reale,  until 
we  came  to  where  the  mountain  of  Posilipo  once  shut 
up  the  way  between  Naples  and  Pozzuoli,  but  which  the 
ancients  with  an  engineering  skilly  th^t  makes  the  modern 
stare,  have  tunneled  and  bored  through,  forming  the  cele- 
brated Grotto  of  Posilipo.  Divers  are  the  opinions  of  the 
learned,  touching  the  time  and  beginning  of  this  great 
work.  It  was  attributed  by  the  vulgar  in  ancient  times, 
to  magical  arts,  and  the  credit  of  the  enterprise  they  be- 
stowed on  no  less  a  necromancer  than  Virgil,  whose  bones 
are  reported  to  rest  on  the  hill  above.  But  the  enterprize 
and  wealth  of  that  ancient  Sybarite,  Lucullus,  no  doubt 
excavated  Posilipo  for  the  convenience  of  his  villa.  For 
that  magnificent  Roman,  who  carved  statues  out  of  moun- 
tains, opened  gulfs  of  the  sea  to  give  water  to  his  fish- 
ponds, and  ransacked  continents  to  supply  a  single  dish 
for  his  table,  would  not  have  hesitated  long  about  such  a 
work  as  this.  The  singular  and  wonderful  passage  is  cut 
through  the  mountain,  a  little  over  half  a  mile  in  length. 
It  is  everywhere  broad  enough  to  permit  two  carriages  to 


PozzuoLi.  247 

pass.  The  road  througli  it  is  paved  with  flat  flags  of  lava, 
and  lies  on  a  considerable  ascent  from  east  to  west.  A 
small  apartment  is  cut  into  the  rock  about  the  centre  of 
the  passage ;  and  a  little  chapel,  also  hewn  in  the  rock, 
stands  near  the  entrance  from  Naples.  Immediately  over 
this  is  located  the  tomb  of  Virgil :  and  above  the  grotto 
is  a  vineyard.  The  height  of  this  grotto  is  very  unequal, 
being  low  in  the  centre,  and  lofty  at  the  extremities. 
Daylight  is  always  perceptible  at  each  end,  and  two  open- 
ings are  pierced  in  a  slanting  direction  towards  the  sides 
of  the  hill,  and  three  lamps  hang  about  the  middle  of  the 
roof,  to  assist  in  clearing  up  the  darkness  and  obscurity 
that  even  at  mid-day  envelop  the  grotto.  But  with  all 
these  contrivances  it  is  still  a  gloomy  and  disagreeable, 
though  extraordinary  passage.  On  emerging  from  its 
gloomy  shades,  we  gratefully  acknowledged  the  exhilarat- 
ing influences  of  the  sun,  sky  and  air,  and  more  ardently 
admired  the  rich  green  of  the  vineyards  on  the  shore, 
and  the  sparkling  waves  af  the  Mediterranean  flashing 
back  the  sunlight.  After  leaving  the  grotto,  and  passing 
thr<Migh  the  groves  which. border  it  at  this  outlet,  the  road 
descends  to  the  beach,  and  continues  to  traverse  its  wind- 
ings, until  it  reaches  Pozzuoli,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
distant  Cape  of  Sorrento,  and  the  craggy  summit  of  Caprea 
to  the  left;  with  the  bold  promontory  of  Posilipo  in  the  fore- 
ground. Within  a  short  distance  of  the  shore  is  to  be  seen 
the  fortress  of  the  Lazaretto,  built  on  a  small  insulated 
ro'ck  :  a  little  beyond  is  the  small  island  of  Nicida — the 
favorite  retreat  of  Brutus,  rising  steep  and  verdant  from 
the  waves.  And  there  stretching  away  to  the  right,  is  the 
irregular  shore  of  the  Bay  skirted  by  its  fertile  headlands 
crowned  with  aloes  and  prickly  pear,  backed  by  the  bright 


248  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

yellow  and  white  hillocks  that  encompass  the  sulphurous 
Solfatara;  while  ravishing  glimpses  are  now  and  then 
caught  of  the  more  distant  romantic  promontory  of  Baia, 
proudly  elevating  its  castellated  cliff,  with  the  lofty  rugged 
peak  of  Ischia  rising  behind :  and  the  bright  deep  blue 
expanse  of  waters  in  front,  sparkling  in  the  sunshine. 

Pozzuoli,  perched  on  a  hill  in  the  midst  of  the  shore,  is 
now  a  mean  and  contemptible  village  enough :  but  it  once 
boasted  of  magnificence  and  splendor,  which  the  sea, 
wars,  and  earthquakes  have  continued  to  mar,  until  it 
has  become  the  miserable  spot  one  now  sees  it.  And  there 
extending  far  into  the  sea,  may  yet  be  discerned  the  moles 
of  the  old  Port  —  thirteen  immense  piles,  which  spring 
out  of  the  water,  like  square  towers.  When  the  ancient 
bridge  existed  here,  it  extended  itself  into  the  sea,  until 
it  reached  the  shore  on  the  opposite  side.  Pozzuoli  was 
an  ancient  Grecian  Colony.  It  passed  into  the  power  of  the 
Romans  in  the  war  with  Hannibal;  when  its  government 
and  liberty  were  taken  from  it,  and  a  Prefect  annually 
sent  from  the  Roman  people  to  govern  it.  It  then  became 
a  favorite  summer  resort  of  the,  more  wealthy  of  the*  Ro- 
mans, who  frequented  it  on  account  of  its  salubrity  and 
location.  Murray  says,  "  on  entering  Pozzuoli,  the  traveler 
will  be  beset  with  ciceroni,  and  by  pretended  dealers  in 
antiquities''  —  and  certainly  on  our  entrance  we  were 
surrounded  by  a  cloud  of  witnesses,  in  attestation  of  the 
truth  of  this  remark.  Ancient  lamps  from  Cumae  — coins 
with  Caligula's  image  and  superscription  upon  them — 
lachrymal  vessels  from  some  ancient  tomb,  and  any  quan- 
tity of  smaller  memorials  of  a  race  long  since  gone,  were 
thrust  at  us  with  fierce  gesticulations,  and  earnest  com- 
mentaries upon  their  genuineness.    J^ozzuoli  has  become  a 


POzzuoLi.  249 

great  manufactory  of  antiquities f  and  every  day,  modem 
skill  with  a  little  damp  earth,  transforms  the  things  of 
to-day  into  ^^ veritable  antiques/*  The  streets  of  the 
modern  town  are  now  forlorn  enough,  being  narrow  and 
exceedingly  filthy.  What  a  difference  it  must  haye  pre- 
sented, when  the  brave-  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  guarded 
by  the  Centurian,  stept  forth  upon  that  mole,  whose  ruins 
may  still  be^seen  just  rising  above  the  edge  of  the  shore. 
Then  Puteoli  was  a  city  of  palaces,  adorned  with  all  the 
luxury  and  taste,  which  indicated  its  Grecian  origin,  and 
thronged  with  a  most  wealthy  and  polished  population. 

It  is  at  Pozzuoli  one  begins  to  find  himself  in  what 
Strabo  calls,  "  the  Piazza,  and  shop  of  Vulcan,  where  the 
mountains  seem  continually  to  burn  at  the  roots,  so  that 
on  all  sides  they  emit  smoke  by  many  mouths,  and  the  smell 
of  sulphur  is  blown  all  over  the  country."  Here  you  find 
still  the  hot  and  the  mineral  springs,  which  made  in 
ancient  times,  and  still  make  this  a  favorite  resort  for 
invalids.  These  springs  are  in  great  repute  for  internal 
and  external  maladies,  abounding  in  sulphur,  magnesia, 
and  soda.  Virgil  calls  these  spots  *'the  breathing  places 
of  Pluto,"  and  Pliny  designates  then  as  "vents  of  the 
infernal  regions." 

Among  the  ruins  of  this  ancient  city  none  are  more  in- 
teresting and  important  than  those  of  the  Temple  of  Jupi- 
ter Serapis.  These  ruins  illustrate  in  a  remarkable  degree 
the  mysterious  changes  that  are  constantly  going  on  in  the 
shifting  soil  of  this  volcanic  region.  Indeed,  I  doubt 
whether  any  of  it  properly  could  be  embraced  within 
Blackstone^s  definition  of  real  estate.  This  it  must  be 
remembered,  is  the  region  where  mountains  spring  up  in  a 
single  night  like  mushrooms — where  the  sea  sometimes 
shrinks  afirighted  from  the  shore^  and  sometimes  fearing 


250  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

nothing,  boldly  encroaches  upon  it,  sweeping  whole  cities 
to  destruction.  In. the  fourth  century  of  our  era,  this 
old  Temple,  erected  before  the  advent  of  our  Saviour, 
was  abandoned  by  its  worshippers,  and  in  some  sudden 
convulsion  of  nature^  sank  into  the  earth  until  the  bases  of 
its  columns  were  all  beneath  the  surface.  Eruption  after 
eruption  poured  down  layer  after  layer  of  scoria,  which 
enveloped  the  sunken  columns  still  more,  until  at  last  only 
a  small  portion  of  the  summits  were  above  ground. 
In  process  of  time,  even  this  part  became  covered 
with  trees  and  brush-wood.  About  the  middle  of  the  last 
century,  a  portion  of  one  of  the  columns  was  observed 
peering  above  the  brush-wood,  and  the  reigning  Sovereign 
gave  orders  to  have  them  disinterred,  which  revealed  to 
the  astonished  gaze,  the  magnificent  ruins  that  now 
excite  the  wonder  of  the  traveler,  and  stimulate  the  curi- 
osity of  the  naturalist.  The  columns  are  of  Cipolino  mar- 
ble, of  the  Corinthian  order,  each  formed  of  one  solid 
block  for  the  shaft.  The  pavement  of  the  Temple  and  its 
surrounding  Court  is  almost  entire,  though  now  nearly 
covered  with  the  waters  of  the  sea,  that  reach  up  here 
over  its  level  platform.  Around  lie  scattered  blocks  of 
the  purest  and  whitest  marble,  and  fragments  of  Sculp- 
ture, all  of  great  elegance,  which  once  adorned  this 
magnificent  Temple.  On  the  bases  of  these  columns 
may  be  observed  myriads  of  perforations,  that  make  them 
look  like  a  honey  comb.  These  are  holes  eaten  in  the 
solid  marble  by  the  teeth  of  sea-worms  —  and  showing 
that  at  one  period  in  their  history,  they  must  have  been 
submerged  beneath  the  wave.  But  another  convulsion 
sent  them  to  the  surface,  for  the  bases  of  the  pillars  thus 
eaten,  are  now  above  the  soil. 

The  amphitheatre  which  rises  behind  and  above  the 


SOLFATARA.  251 

town,  is  a  vast  enclosed  oval  area  very  similar  to  the  Co- 
losseum at  Kome,  and  remarkable,  as  having  been  the 
favorite  spot  where  Nero  exhibited  his  prowess  as  a  com- 
batant of  wild  beasts,  not  half  as  cruel  as  himself. 
Within  this  grass-grown  circle,  he  turned  buflFoon  and 
appeared  both  as  singer  and  actor. 

"The  hired  actor's  fame  alone  he  prized; 

For  this  he  bow'd  a  slave,  by  slaves  themselves  despised." 

Here  too  it  is  said,  that  worthy  saint,  St.  Januarius,  whose 
blood  annually  liquifies  at  Naples,  suffered  martyrdom. 
This  amphitheatre,  like  that  of  Kome,  has  the  floor  of  its 
arena,  filled  with  subterranean  chambers,  doubtless  the 
cells  where  the  wild  beasts  were  kept,  and  from  which 
they  sprang  into  the  arena.  It  presents  some  very  fine 
specimens  of  the  Roman  arch,  and  is  in  a  most  admirable 
state  of  preservation  —  the  masonry  being  as  firm  at  this 
day,  as  when  first  constructed. 

From  Pozzuoli,  we  proceeded  to  Solfatara,  which  lies 
about  a  mile  northeast  of  the  town.  We  reached  it  after 
a  somewhat  tedious  ascent,  and  found  it  a  vast  oval  plain, 
extending  on  an  eminence,  but  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
an  elevated  border,  resembling  a  rampart.  Nothing  can 
exceed  the  sterile  desolation  of  this  spot.  It  is  the  flooring 
that  now  covers  the  crater  of  a  volcano,  which  once  poured 
out  its  desolating  stream  of  fire  upon  all  the  plain  beneath. 
Its  surface  is  covered  with  the  pale  yellow  sulphur,  and 
the  noise  of  your  footsteps  sounds  hollow  and  dismal 
from  beneath. 

"  No  herbage  decks  the  soil ;  nor  in  the  spring 
Do  the  soft  shrubs,  with  discord  musical. 
Hold  murmuring  converse  with  the  gentle  breeze, 
But  chaos  there,  and  hopeless  barrenness, 


252  rOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

Dark  rocks,  and  funeral  cypresses  are  found, 
In  this  drear  spot,  grim  Pluto  from  the  ground, 
Rear'd  his  dire  form,  while  played  around  his  head 
With  smouldering  ashes  strew'd,  sepulchral  fires." 

Standing  upon  the  sulphurous  floor  of  Solfatara,  and  look- 
ing round  upon  the  desolation  that  encircles  you,  and 
forward  to  where  an  open  chasm  still  roars  with  internal 
fires  that  send  forth  alternately  flames  and  smoke,  you 
may  well  realize  the  features  of  Milton's  infernal  regions. 
"  The  dreary  plain,  the  land  that  hurned  fiercely  as  the 
Lake  with  liquid  fire — the  fiery 'deluge  fed  with  ever 
burning  sulphur j'  are  all  here.  Solfatara^  is  the  place  which 
of  old,  was  celebrated  in  those  inventions  of  the  ancient 
poets,  that  in  my  school-boy  days,  I  had  read  with  such 
wonder  and  delight.  It  was  under  this  mountain  the 
Giants  were  buried,  who  from  Hell,  cast  forth  out  of  their 
throats  flames,  when  earthquake's  shook  the  soil, 

«Et  monies,  scopulos  terrasque  inverter©  dorso." 

When  we  visited  this  spot,  the  small  opening  of  the  vol- 
cano was  in  active  operation^  and  while  this  continues, 
Vesuvius  remains  quiet.  But  when  the  volcanic  action 
ceases  here,  then  Vesuvius  bursts  forth.  Hence  it  is  called 
the  pulse  of  Vesuvius,  and  through  its  fierce  beatings  many 
miles  away,  they  learn  When  the  fever  heat  begins  to  course 
through  the  veins  of  the  giant  mountain,  indicating  that 
soon  the  melting  lava  will  overflow  its  crater,  to  carry 
devastation  and  terror  along  its  scorching  pathway.  The 
ancient  poets  very  naturally  seized  upon  this  wonderful 
region  as  the  appropriate  scene  for  their  lofty  imaginations 
and  fancies;  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  near  here  they 
should  have  placed  their  entrance  to  the  infernal  realms. 
We  drove  dowA  from  those  desolate  regions  and  conti- 


BAIA. 

nued  our  journey  towards  Baia,  passing  the  ruins  of  Cicero's 
villa,  perched  high  upon  a  rock.  This  is  the  Puteolian 
villa,  of  which  the  orator  speaks  so  rapturously  in  some  of 
his  letters ;  and  fromi  its  location  must  have  commanded 
the  most  magnificent  views  of  sea  and  shore.  Hither 
Cicero  retired  in  the  calamitous  times  of  the  republic,  to 
pass  the  time  away  and  forget  his  misfortunes  in  his  favo- 
rite studies.  And  here  the  principal  llomans  repaired  to 
visit  him  and  take  counsel.  Here  he  had  those  halls  and 
groves,  which  induced  him  to  call  his  villa  an  Academy, 
in  imitation  of  that  of  Athens,  wherein  they  ordinarily 
disputed  walking.  He  gave  his  "  Questiones  Academicae" 
their  name  from  this  villa.  It  is  to  this  place  he  alludes, 
when  writing  to  Atticus  at  Athens,  he  recommends  his 
Academy,  and  begs  him  "  to  send  to  him  from  Greece  what- 
ever could  be  had  for  ennobling  it  with  fair  ornaments." 

About  three  miles  distant  from  Pozzuoli,  you  reach 
Baia,  with  the  remains  of  villas,  temples  and  palaces  lining 
the  shores,  and  in  some  places  with  ruins  visible  far  down 
in  the  clear  waters  that  lave  them.  The  bay  of  Baia  is 
a  semicircular  recess  just  opposite  the  harbor  of  Pozzuoli. 
The  taste  for  building  in  the  waters  and  encroaching  on 
the  sea,  to  which  Horace  alludes,  is  exemplified  in  a  very 
striking  manner  all  along  this  coast.  Here  might  be 
traced  the  remains  of  the  villa  of  Hortensius,  where 
that  luxurious  Roman  had  his  fair  fish-pools,  for  which 
Cicero  taunting  him,  calls  him  '^Neptune,  god  of  the  sea." 
It  was  in  this  villa  the  monster  Nero  put  to  death  his  own 
mother,  Agrippina.  Within  the  space  hemmed  in  by  these 
shores,  C.  Marius,  Pompey  and  Caesar  had  their  houses  of 
pleasure;  and  near  the  Temple  of  Venus,  we  traced  the  vast 
foundations  of  the  last  named  Roman's  retreat.  In  the  sea 
w 


264  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

may  be  clearly  seen  the  great  old  piles  of  the  port  of  Baia^ 
like  those  of  Pozzuoli,  built  of  brick  at  enormous  expense. 
They  were  constructed  by  Julius  Caesar  during  his  first 
consulship,  by  commission  of  the  Senate.  Here  in  this 
neighborhood,  is  the  Lake  Avernus,  consecrated  to  Pluto, 
god  of  hell.  This  was  the  scene  of  Virgil's  famous  en- 
trance into  hell,  and  here  was  the  gate  through  which  the 
infernal  spirits  rose  when  a  human  creature  was  sacrificed  to 
them.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Lake  are  the  ruins  of 
the  Temple  of  Apollo.  But  one  would  not  certainly  have 
suspected  that  either  Apollo  or  his  priestess,  would  have 
frequented  this  region  surrounded  by  overshadowing  hills. 
The  waters  of  the  Lake  look  dark  and  stagnant,  and  at  this 
point,  the  scene  is  far  more  like  the  dismal  dominions  of 
Pluto,  than  of  the  fabled  deity  of  light  and  harmony.  The 
Lucrine  Lake  so  celebrated  in  classic  history,  may  still  be 
seen,  though  somewhat  shorn  of  its  proportions.  Agrippa 
when  he  formed  a  harbor  of  the  Lucrine  Lake,  opened  a 
communication  between  it  and  the  fabled  Acheron.  It 
was  in  the  year  1538,  that  near  to  the  former  Lake,  much 
to  the  astonishment  of  the  inhabitants,  in  a  single  night, 
rose  that  conical  looking  .mountain,  called  Monte  Nuovo, 
over  a  mile  in  elevation.  At  the  sudden  birth  of  this 
mountain,  the  shore  and  the  waters  of  the  sea  retired  many 
hundred  feet  —  overwhelming  an  entire  town,  and  filling 
these  old  classic  lakes  with  stones,  earth  and  ashes.  By 
some  of  the  ancient  chroniclers  the  small  mountain  near  it 
was  called  Monte  di  Christo,  they  asserting  that  Christ,  re- 
turning from  Hell  with  the  souls  of  the  Holy  Fathers,  arose 
out  of  the  earth,  near  this  mountain;  thus  reviving  the 
old  classic  tradition  of  the  entrance  to  Hell,  being  in 
the  vicinity  of  Lake  Avernus.     The  Grotto  of  the  Sybil 


ELY8IAN   FIELDS.  255 

is  in  close  vicinity,  but  this  we  Lad  no  time  to  visit. 
It  was  the  residence  of  that  famous  Cumscn  Sybil,  that 
gave  Eneas  the  free  passage  into  Hell :  and  she  was  one  of 
the  twelve  who  uttered  the  prophecy  concerning  the 
the  Saviour,  all  of  which  no  doubt  was  an  after  invention 
of  the  Fathers.  The  prophecy  is  said  to  have  been  at 
follows : — 

"Great  Rome  shall  then  look  high. 

"Whose  proud  towers  from  seven  hills  shall  brave  the  skjr, 

And  overlook  the  world.    In  those  blest  days 

Shall  come  a  King  of  Kings;  and  he  shall  raise 

A  new  Plantation:  and  though  greater  far 

Than  all  the  monarchs  that  before  him  are 

In  majesty  and  power;  yet  in  that  day 

So  meek  and  humble,  he  shall  deign  to  pay 

Tribute  to  Csesar;  yet  thrice  happy  he 

That  shall  his  subject  or  his  servant  be.*' 

From  Baia  to  Misenum,  the  entire  curve  of  the  beau- 
tiful shore  is  covered  with  the  ruins  of  edifices,  private  and 
public,  temples,  theatres,  and  villas — while  the  ground 
you  tread  has  been  celebrated  by  poets,  the  chosen  resi- 
dence of  patriots  and  tyrants,  and  the  scene  of  the  most 
atrocious  crimes. 

But  let  no  one  who  does  not  desire  to  have  all  his  clas- 
sical ideas  subverted,  visit  the  site  of  the  Elysian  fields. 
It  is  a  forlorn  looking  spot,  affording  no  trace  of  the 
reason  of  the  ancients  in  locating  those  blessed  fields  in 
this  vicinity.  Well  does  a  classical  writer  remark  in  re- 
ference to  these  grounds  :  "  In  the  splendor  of  a  Neapo- 
litan firmament,  the  tourist  will  seek  in  vain  for  that  pui-ple 
light  so  delightful  to  his  boyish  fancy  —  he  will  look  to  no 
purpose  for  meadows  ever  green,  rills  always  full,  and 
banks  and  hillocks  of  downy  moss."     The  morning  we 


256  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

were  there  had  no  resemblance  to  some  of  the  days  of  our 
uncongenial  spring :  the  sun  shone  brightly  in  the  heaven?, 
the  waters  of  the  bay  sparkled  under  its  beams,  and  the  air 
was  soft,  though  towards  mid-day  somewhat  warm.  And 
near  this,  is  the  Promontory  of  Misenum,  so  celebrated  in 
Roman  naval  history.  It  was  here  Eneas  gave  sepulture 
to  his  dead  trumpeter  Misenus,  and  called  the  place  after 
his  name.  The  Piscina  Mirabilis,  still  enclosed  by  walls, 
is  some  five  hundred  feet  long,  and  two  hundred  broad. 
The  arched  ceiling  was  once  supported  upon  forty -eight 
columns,  many  of  which  remain.  The  whole  fabric  is 
composed  of  brick,  and  the  walls  being  of  great  thickness 
render  it  very  durable.  It  is  covered  on  the  inside  with 
cement  to  make  it  water  tight :  and  this  huge  structure, 
the  magnificent  Augustus  built  to  hold  fresh  water  for  the 
use  of  his  fleet.  It  was  at  Misenum  the  elder  Pliny  was 
stationed  in  command  of  the  fleet,  and  from  it  he  started  in 
his  ship,  to  afibrd  assistance  to  the  Pompeians,  at  the  time 
of  the  eruption  that  laid  their  city  under  ashes,  when  he 
perished  himself  by  suS'ocation,  as  his  nephew  relates  in 
his  interesting  letter  to  Tacitus  the  historian.  Many  of 
the  sepulchral  stones  about  Misenum  bear  the  names  of 
the  ofiicers  and  soldiers  that  once  belonged  to  the  Roman 
fleets  that  so  often  rode  at  anchor  here,  together  with  the 
names  of  the  ships  to  which  they  were  attached. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  retracing  our  steps 
by  the  curved  shore,  washed  by  the  serenely  beautiful 
waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  wo  passed  once  more  through 
the  far-famed  grotto  of  Posilipo,  and  prepared  to  perform 
the  pious  duty  of  visiting  the  Tomb  of  Virgil.  The  Hill 
was  almost  as  hard  to  climb,  as  the  Poet  thought  the  ascent 
from  Avernus.     After  the  fatiguing  part  of  the  ascent  was 


virqil's  tomb.  257 

passed,  we  wound  through  vineyards  until  we  reached  in  & 
wild  and  romantic  spot,  the  place  where  the  tomb  ia  located. 
Outside,  the  structure  is  circular;  inside,  it  is  a  square 
empty  chamber,  with  a  vaulted  top,  and  numerous  small 
receptacles  on  the  sides  for  cinerary  urns.  Its  centre  is 
said  to  have  contained  nine  marble  pillars,  supporting  an 
urn  with  the  following  inscription, 

"Mantua  me  genuit,  Calabri  rapuere,  tenet  nunc 
Parlhenopej  cecini  pascua,  rura,  duces." 

The  urn  is  gone,  not  a  name  appears :  but  from  the 
hand  of  ever  bounteous  nature,  an  evergreen  stretches 
its  verdant  arms  above  it,  and  a  profusion  of  vegetation, 
gives  somewhat  of  the  freshness  of  spring,  to  this  symbol 
of  decay. 

We  are  told  that  Virgil  traveling  in  Greece,  met  Augus- 
tus at  Athens,  who  proposed  his  journeying  with  him. 
But  at  Megara,  the  poet  was  seized  with  a  complaint 
which  forced  him  to  return  to  Brundusium,  where  he  died. 
His  remains  were  at  his  own  request  brought  to  Naples, 
and  buried  on  this  hill.  It  is  certainly  a  spot,  which  a 
poet  would  have  chosen  —  and  perhaps  the  richness  of  the 
clustering  grapes  and  the  carols  of  the  vintage,  conjoined 
to  the  enrapturing  prospect  that  everywhere  bursts  upon 
the  eye,  may  have  often  led  his  living  footsteps  to  this 
magnificent  hill.  The  spot  where  the  tomb  stands  is  soli- 
tary :  but  surrounded  by  all  that  poets  love — the  wild 
roar  of  the  ocean,  or  its  magic  murmur  —  the  lofty  Appe- 
nines  in  the  distance  —  Vesuvius,  towering  in  lonely 
majesty,  its  black  and  burning  summit,  contrasting  with 
the  vineyards,  palaces  and  villages,  that  crowd  around  itj 
foot.  In  the  same  vineyard,  and  not  far  from  this  monii- 
W2 


25S  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

ment;  are  two  or  three  simple  tomb  stones,  the  last  homes 
of  the  English  and  German  Protestants  who  have  died 
at  Naples. 

As  we  returned  to  Naples,  the  broad  way  that  passed 
the  Villa  Reale,  and  the  shady  walks  of  this  pleasant  gar- 
den by  the  sea,  were  alive  with  all  the  fashion  and  gaiety 
of  the  city.  Dashing  equipages  with  rich  liveries  whirled 
by  us,  mingled  here  and  there  with  the  more  humble 
calessiy  —  the  drivers  standing  behind,  and  urging  their 
lean  and  panting  horses  at  a  breakneck  pace.  There  too 
were  the  temporary  stages  on  which  the  wit  of  that  illus- 
trious native  of  Naples,  Punch,  is  displayed^  surrounded 
with  characteristic  groups.  In  many  respects  Neapolitan 
life,  both  out  doors  and  in,  resembles  Parisian.  The  Nea- 
politans have  the  same  thoughtless  vivacity,  the  same 
jocund  disposition.  Fond  to  excess  of  trifling  amusements, 
the  gay  creatures  pass  through  life,  with  the  hilarity  and 
carelessness  of  children.  They  flourish  in  youth  and 
wither  in  age,  without  a  thought  beyond  the  hour. 


CHAPTER    III. 

TKCE    CIX^Z'    ODP    THE    C-S3S^A.I^S- 

Approach  to  Rome  —  View  from  the  Capitol — The  Seven  IlilU  — 
The  Roman  Forum,  and  its  Ruins. 

From  the  first  moment  of  entering  Italy,  our  thongbtjiy 

our  wishes,  and  our  hopes  all  centered  in  Rome,     Ihere 

is  something  indeseribably  gukmn  in  the  wildness  and 

neglected  condition   of  the   approach   towards   that   city 

at  any  point ;  something  which  strikes  the  traveler  with 

double  awe   as  he  comes  near  this    oasis   of  the  deserts 

Enter  it  on  the  road  from   Naples,   and   the  desolation 

is   still    more   profound.      Then,    the   fragments   of  the 

costly  tombs  of  the  once  rulers  of  the  world,  fling  their 

shadows   across  your  pathway,   and  you  pass  in  to  the 

Eternal  City  with  the  ruined  fragments  of  the  palace  of 

the  Csesars  around  you — the  stern  and  kingly  mass  of  the 

Colosseum,  rising  like  a  spectre  of  the  past  before  you : 

and  close  to  it,  the  Forum,  strewed  with  the  memorials  of 

architectural  grandeur; 

"  Those  shattered  fanes 
Still  matchless  monuments  of  other  years." 

Our  first  approach  to  the  city  was  by  the  Civita  Vecchia 
road,  and  we  entered  it  near  the  grand  Basilica  of  St.  Peters. 
Its  huge  dome  had  been  visible  for  the  last  twelve  miles, 
towering  up  in  solitary  grandeur :  and  as  we  drove  by  the 
semicircular  colonnade,  enclosing  its  oval  piazza,  the  first 
view  of  the  entire  structure  was  by  no  means  commensurate 
with  our  preconceived  ideas  of  its  extent.    Nor  was  our  first 


260  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

impression  of  the  Eternal  City  very  favorable^  as  our  dili- 
gence dashed  along  through  narrow  and  filthy  streets,  af" 
fording  us  glimpses  every  now  and  then  of  bridges,  orna- 
mented with  statues,  sombre  looking  cupolas,  or  strange 
barrack-like  buildiDgs.  I  had  not  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Eternal  City,  to  view  the  churches  with  their  resplendent 
altars,  their  gorgeous  ceremonies  and  magnificent  rituals ; 
to  witness  how  far  the  present  generation  with  all  the 
light  of  Christianity^  has  deviated  from  the  greatness  and 
glory  of  the  olden  time :  but  I  went  there  to  gratify  the 
cravings  of  a  more  laudable  curiosity,  to  see  the  memo- 
rials of  the  world's  masters :  to  stand  in  the  midst,  and 
trace  out  the  ruins  of  ancient  Rome, 

"  The  land  of  heroes,  and  the  nurse  of  arms." 

Modern  Eome  does  not  occupy  either  the  extent  or  the 
site  of  the  ancient  city.  The  Campus  Marti  us,  which,  in 
the  days  of  the  greatness  of  ancient  Rome,  was  an  open 
field  for  military  exercises  and  games^  is  now  the  only  part 
within  the  walls  that  can  be  called  populous.  Of  the 
Seven  Hills,  the  Capitoline  and  Quirinal  only  are  covered 
with  habitations.  Deserted  villas,  olive  grounds,  vineyards, 
cottages  of  the  peasantry,  and  above  all,  convents,  occupy 
the  wide  extent  of  the  Palatine,  Aventine,  Celian,  Esqui- 
line  and  Viminal  hills. 

Standing  upon  the  Tower  of  the  modern  Capitol,  which 
now  occupies  the  site  of  the  Tabularium,  or  Record  office 
of  ancient  Rome,  and  stands  like  "a  Pharos/'  between 
two  ages  of  the  world ;  a  most  interesting  view  spreads 
out  before  you.  From  this  point  you  can  readily  discover 
the  ancient  grandeur  of  Rome,  and  its  modern  strength. 
In  the  view  is  united  in  a  remarkable  degree  the  charm 


VIEW   FROM  THE   CAPITOL.  261 

• 
of  a  magnificent  landscape  with  that  which  springs  from 

historic  association.  Through  the  cloudless  and  transpa- 
rent atmosphere,  a  large  part  of  the  Latian  plain  is  visible. 
Its  luxuriant  pasturages  and  thickets  fade  away  on  ono 
side  into  the  faint  line  of  the  distant  sea,  and  rise  on  the 
other  into  the  stately  amphitheatre  of  the  mountains,  steep 
and  lofty — studded  on  their  verdant  slopes  with  towns  and 
villages;  and  towards  their  more  southern  extremify  clothed 
with  beautiful  woods.  The  Tiber,  stained  to  a  deep  yellow 
by  the  fertilizing  soil,  which  it  has  washed  away  from  its 
banks,  after  entering  the  Umbrian  and  Etruscan  vales, 
glitters  like  a  belt  of  gold  along  the  plain,  in  the  sunshine 
which  irradiates  with  Italian  clearness,  the  sward,  the 
scattered  trees,  and  the  shadowy  hills.  In  the  distance 
are  spots  hallowed  by  their  classic  memories.  There  may 
be  seen  Tivoli,  the  favorite  haunt  of  the  poet  Horace — 
there,  too,  is  the  Alban  Mount,  bearing  upon  one  of  its 
ridges,  the  ruins  of  ancient  Tusculum,  consecrated  in  the 
thoughts  of  the  classic  scholar,  as  having  been  the  favorite 
retreat  of  Rome's  greatest  orator,  and  the  sceine  of  his 
Tusculan  disputations.  Towards  the  south-east  stretches 
the  long  line  of  the  Appian  way,  and  its  ruined  tombs, — 
that  highway,  whose  worn  stones  are  the  same  as  those 
pressed  by  the  great  Apostle,  when  he  approached  the  city, 
where  he  was  to  die,  accompanied  by  the  brethren  "who 
had  gone  out  to  meet  him  as  far  as  the  Apii  Forum,  and 
the  Three  Taverns."  To  the  south-west  stretches  in  elo- 
qaent  desolation  the  Campagna,  as  far  as  Ostia  and  the  sea. 
History  has  consecrated  this  mighty  waste  by  the  memory 
of  noble  deeds — Imagination  has  hallowed  it  by  the  spell 
of  poetry,  and  Superstition  with  her  most  graceful  fanta- 
sies.    Rome,  in  her  infant  greatness,  filled  that  vast  plain 


262  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

with  her  shadow;  making  it  the  bloody  stage  on  which 
to  practice  for  the  subjugation  of  a  world. 

Bringing  from  our  position,  the  eye  back  again  to  range 
within  the  walls,  we  can  easily  trace  out  the  seven  hills  on 
which  the  Imperial  City  once  stood,  when  it  gave  laws  to 
a  subject  world.  On  the  north  and  west  of  our  position, 
immediately  beyond  the  Tiber,  the  view  within  the  city  is 
bounded  by  the  Janiculum  Mount,  and  Monte  Mario, 
crested  with  villas,  and  embosomed  amongst  pines  and 
other  evergreens.  The  former  of  these  elevations  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  the  Pincian  Mount  on  the 
nearer  bank,  form  a  semicircle,  of  which  our  position  on 
the  Capitoline  Tower  is  the  centre :  and  this  area  includes 
almost  the  whole  of  the  modern  city,  the  greater  part  of 
which  lies  between  us  and  the  water's  edge,  covering  the 
flat  surface  of  what  in  the  days  of  ancient  Eome  was  the 
Campus  Martius. 

The  ancient  city  of  the  seven  hills,  beginning  with  the 
Capitoline  Mount,  in  the  midst  of  whose  modern  buildings 
we  are  standing,  is  nearly  all*  contained  in  the  remaining 
semicircle  enclosed  by  the  city  walls.  Now,  every  spot 
once  covered  by  the  ancient  city  is  a  waste,  almost  without 
inhabitant.  Piles  of  shattered  architecture  rise  amidst 
vineyards  and  rural  lanes,  exhibiting  no  tokens  of  habita- 
tion, except  some  decayed  and  decaying  villas  and  a  convent. 
Facing  the  Campagna,  on  our  right  is  the  Palatine  Mount. 
It  is  the  spot  connected  with  every  period  of  Roman  story. 
It  was  the  birth-place  of  the  infant  republic  of  Eomulus ; 
and  at  last  became  too  small  to  hold  the  palace  of  a  single 
emperor.  Still  farther  to  the  right,  and  almost  behind 
you  is  the  rocky  Aventine,  rising  from  the  Tiber,*  bare 
and  almost  solitary,  and  displaying  the  shattered  fragmenti 


THE   SEVEN   HILLS.  263 

of  the  stupendous  baths  of  Caracalla.  A  little  beyond  the 
Palatine  is  the  Celian,  with  the  remains  of  Roman  aque- 
ducts, crossing  in  broken  masses  from  the  Porta  Waggiore, 
towards  the  site  of  the  ancient  city.  Directly  before  us, 
in  the  distance,  is  the  Esquiline,  commencing  at  the  point 
where  the  Celian  ends,  near  the  gate  of  St.  John  Lateran, 
and  running  down  with  it  to  the  Colisseum ;  and  there  a 
little  to  the  left  of  the  Esquiline,  are  the  Quirinal  and 
Pincian  hills — the  immense  palace  and  gardens  of  the 
Pontiff  crowning  the  one,  and  the  modern  gardens  of  Rome 
the  other. 

Descending  from  our  position  on  the  Tower  of  the  Capitol, 
let  us  visit  the  open  space  below,  where  fragments  of  co- 
lumns, triumphal  arches,  and  broken  pavements,  tell  that 
here  once  stood  the  pride  of  Rome,  the  Roman  Forum. 
This  space,  so  celebrated  in  the  world's  history,  in  its 
palmiest  days  appears  to  have  been  an  oblong  area,  consi- 
derably wider  at  the  end  nearest  the  Capitol;  than  at  the 
other,  narrowing  from  one  hundred  and  eighty  to  one  hun- 
dred and  ten  feet.  The  Capitoline  Hill  is  at  its  head,  the 
Palatine  hemming  it  in  on  one  side,  the  extremities  of  the 
Quirinal  and  Viminal  on  the  other;  while  the  Esquiline, 
rears  itself  directly  opposite  to  the  Capitoline — so  that, 
in  reality,  the  Forum  was  hemmed  in  by  five  of  the  seven 
hills  on  which  Rome  stood.  If  we  look  now  to  the  boun- 
daries of  this  celebrated  space,  the  prospect  is  mournful 
enough.  At  one  end  we  have  the  Capitoline  Hill,  on  tho 
summit  of  which,  instead  of  the  Temple  of  Jupiter,  the 
wonder  of  the  world,  is  the  gloomy  looking  palace  of  the 
modern  Capitol,  erected  in  the  heavy  style  of  Michael 
Angelo.  Turning  to  the  right  is  the  Palatine  Hill,  once 
glittering  with  the  brazen  tiles  and  gilded  pinnacles  of 
Nero's  Golden  House:  now  covered  with  the  vast  niins  of 


264  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

of  this  immense  structure,  together  with  the  ungainly 
buildings  of  a  convent,  and  the  weeds  of  its  neglected 
garden.  On  your  left  is  a  range  of  churches,  formed  out 
of  ancient  temples ;  while  in  front  you  discern  the  pictur- 
esque Arch  of  Titus,  still  spanning  "the  Sacred  Way,'' 
while  the  kingly  mass  of  the  Colisseum  lifts  itself  in  air 
with  its  broken  summit,  in  the  distance  beyond. 

The  high  ground  on  the  Capitoline  Hill,  at  the  head  of 
the  Forum,  is  now  almost  encased  on  the  side  next  the 
Forum,  with  ancient   and   massive    masonry,  that   cnce 
formed  part  of  the  Tabularium  or  Record  office  during  the 
time  of  the  Roman  republic,  and  is  the  strong  founda- 
tion upon  'which  the  modern  Capitol  now  rests.     A  few 
feet  from  these  ancient  foundations,  reared  in  part  by  Etrus- 
can skill,  and  within  the  enclosure  at  the  foot  of  the  mo- 
dern Capitol — a  mound  of  earth,  strewn  with  fragments  of 
parti-colored  marbles,  with  a  ftw  fcot-worn  steps  clinging 
to    its   side,  marks  the  site  of  the  Temple  of  Concord. 
This  terraced  substruction  is  now  all  that  remains  of  that 
temple  erected  by  Camillus,  on  the  spot  where  the  Romans 
and  Quirites  were  wont  to  assemble  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow 
made  when  the  victorious  Dictator  had  succeeded  in  restor- 
ing unanimity  between  the  patricians  and  plebeians.     But 
what  renders  this  ruin  of  such  deep   interest,  is,  that  it 
it  has  recently  been  ascertained  through  the  researches  of 
Canina,  that  directly  behind  it,  was  the  great  Senate  Hall, 
where  ''the  Conscript  Fathers"  held  their  sittings,  and  took 
counsel  for  the  good  of  the  State.     And  that  pavement  of 
parti-colored   marbles  once   formed  the   mosaic   floor   of 
Rome's  great  Senate  Hall.     It  was  in  this  Hall,  Cicero 
opened  his.  first  great  oration  against  Catalinc  with  that 
stirring,  heart-searching  exordium,  "  How  far  wilt  thou, 
0  CataliuC;  abuse  our  patience !  Huw  long  shult  thy  madness 


THE  FORUM.  265 

out-brave  our  justice !  To  what  extremities  art  thou 
resolved  to  push  thy  unbridled  insolence-  of  guilt  V  And 
it  was  to  where  the  church  of  Ara  Cacli  now  stands  upon 
the  hill  above,  that  he  turned  his  hands  and  eyes,  when 
he  closed  with  that  sublime  peroration :  ^^  Then,  thou,  O 
Jove,  whose  name  Romulus  consecrated  by  the  same 
rites,  with  which  he  founded  this  city !  Thou,  whom 
we  rightly  call  the  stay  of  the  Empire  !  Thou  shalt 
repel  Cataline  and  his  accomplices  from  thy  altars ;  from 
the  temples  of  the  other  gods;  from  the  walls  of  Rome; 
from  the  lives  and  properties  of  our  citizens.  Then  shall 
thy  eternal  vengeance,  in  life,  as  in  death,  overtake  all  the 
foes  of  the  virtuous;  all  the  enemies  of  the  country;  all 
the  robbers  of  Italy;  and  all  who  are  linked  in  the  mutual 
bands  of  treason,  and  execrable  conspiracy/'  In  close 
proximity  to  this  terraced  substruction,  which  is  all  that 
remains  of  the  Temple  of  Concord,  and  Rome's  famed 
Senate  Hall ;  stand  three  time-worn  pillars,  beautiful  in 
their  decay,  supporting  the  fragment  of  an  entablature. 
It  is  the  graceful  ruin  of  the  Portico,  that  once  belonged 
to  the  small  but  beautiful  Temple  erected  by  a  grateful 
Senate,  to  the  deified  Emperor  Vespasian.  This  for  a  long 
time  passed  as  the  Temple  of  Jupiter  Tonans,  but  the 
researches  of  Canina  and  other  antiquarians  have  proved 
them  beyond  a  doubt  to  belong  to  the  temple  erected  to 
Vespasian,  This  temple  was  restored  by  S.  Severus,  and 
Caracalla;  and  you  may  still  read  upon  the  frieze,  the  letters 
Estitver,  The  lateral  frieze  of  the  portico,  bears  sculp- 
tured emblematical  figures,  most  of  them  representations 
of  ornaments  connected  with  pagan  sacrifices,  such  as  the 
cap  which  the  Flamen  Dialis  wore;  the  secespita  or  iron 
knife  with  the  ivory  handle  used  by  the  same  priest;  the 


266  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

capedunculuSf  or  dish  for  catching  the  blood  of  the  sacri- 
fice; and  the  aspersorium,  or  instrument  for  sprinkling 
the  lustral  water.  Each  column  consists  of  one  block  of 
Greek  marble,  fluted,  with  capitals  richly  ornamented  in 
the  most  beautiful  style  of  the  Corinthian  order. 

Those  eight  columns  of  oriental  granite,  a  little  to  the 
right  of  the  fragment  of  the  portico  of  Vespasian's  temple, 
supporting  an  entablature  of  rare  architectural  beauty,  and 
on  which  parts  of  a  Roman  inscription  may  still  be  read, 
are  the  columns  that  once  supported  the  brazen  roof  of 
the  Ionic  portico  of  the  Temple  of  Saturn.  When  Publi- 
cola,  the  colleague  of  Brutus,  doubted  where  he  should 
deposite  the  treasures  of  the  state,  he  at  last  selected  for 
the  purpose  this  very  temple.  It  was  upon  its  marble  steps, 
the  victorious  generals  on  a  return  from  a  campaign,  were 
obliged  to  take  a  solemn  oath  that  they  had  given  a  true 
account  of  their  captives,  and  the  value  of  their  spoils. 
It  was  past  these  very  columns,  that  the  far-famed  "Sacra 
Via"  led  up  to  the  Capitol — and  they  have  witnessed  many 
a  triumphal  procession,  bearing  amid^the  plaudits  of  throng- 
ing crowds,  the  laureled  conqueror  to  the  temple  of  Jupiter, 
on  one  of  the  eminences  of  the  Capitoline  Hill  above.  On 
the  architrave  may  be  distinctly  read, 

"Senatvs  Populusque  Romanvs. 
Incendio  comsumptum.  Restivit." 

Scarcely  anything  remains  above  the  architrave.  All  that 
exists  is  of  the  Roman  flat  brick :  and  there  are  arches 
over  the  intercolumniations.  When  this  temple  was  res- 
tored, after  its  damage  by  fire,  it  was  evidently  done  in 
great  haste,  and  with  the  materials  of  other  structures. 
The  columns  themselves  bear  plain  marks  of  it.  One  of 
them  has  evidently  been  made  up  of  the  fragments  of  two 


THE   FORUM.  267 

different  pillars,  so  that  the  diameter  is  greater  near  the  sum- 
mit than  it  is  in  the  middle,  and  the  bases  of  the  two  co- 
lumns are  composed  of  Doric  and  Ionic  mixed.  Between 
these  eight  columns  of  the  Temple  of  Saturn,  and  the  Etrus- 
can foundations,  on  which  the  modern  Capitol  now  rests, 
may  be  noticed  a  platform  elaborately  built  of  the  wide 
and  flat  Roman  brick,  and  resting  on  a  series  of  small 
chambers.  Around  are  scattered  fragments  of  carved  capi- 
tals, broken  friezes,  and  mutilated  entablatures.  That 
platform  was  once  pressed  by  the  busy  feet  of  the  mer- 
chants of  Rome,  and  here  in  front  of  the  great  Record- 
office  or  Tabularium  of  the  Republic,  was  the  Roman  ex- 
change, the  Schola  Xantha.  Here  was  that  famous  brazen 
statue  of  Victory;  here  the  brazen  seats,  and  the  seven 
silver  statues  of  the  gods.  Those  small  cell-like  chambers 
were  the  offices  of  the  notaries. 

Passing  down  from  the  Schola  Xantha,  by  the  remains  of 
the  Temple  of  Saturn,  then,  turning  to  the  left  and  pursuing 
your  way  until  you  are  in  a  direct  line  with  the  remains  of 
the  Temple  of  Concord,  the  Arch  of  Septimius  Severus  is 
seen  spanning  the  way.  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been  thrust 
in  where  it  stands,  because  no  other  place  for  it  could  be 
found;  and  no  doubt  this  is  so.  It  certainly  at  one  time 
stood  spanning  the  way  in  some  other  part  of  the  Forum. 
The  sculptures  decorating  it,  are  rude  and  tasteless.  They 
are  intended  to  show  forth  the  victories  of  the  valiant 
Emperor,  whose  name  the  arch  bears,  over  the  Parthians, 
Arabians,  and  Adiabenes.  On  its  level  summit,  now  wav- 
ing with  grass  and  weeds  originally  stood  a  group  in  bronze, 
representing  Severus  with  his  sons  Caracalla  and  Geta,  in 
a  triumphal  chariot  drawn  by  six  horses.  This  massive 
structure,  at  the  commencement  of  the  century  was  choked 


268  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

up  to  the  top  of  the  middle  arch.  A  potter  had  established 
his  workshop  in  it,  and  that  accounts  for  the  smoke-stains 
to  be  seen  covering  the  summit. 

Near  to  this  arch,  is  to  be  seen  a  sort  of  semi-circular 
substruction;  this  once  belonged  to  the  celebrated  plat- 
forms called  from  their  being  adorned  with  the  beaks  of 
captured  ships,  Kostra,  a  name  afterwards  applied  to  all 
platforms  from  which  public  addresses  were  made.  The 
outer  walls  of  these  platforms  may  still  be  traced,  and 
those  blocks  of  white  marble  crowned  by  elaborate  cor- 
nices, once  no  doubt  supported  the  splendid  bronze  balus- 
trade, mentioned  by  Cicero,  which  with  the  pillars  and 
statues  placed  round,  must  have  given  a  brilliant  finish 
to  the  whole.  Standing  upon  this  ruin,  and  looking 
up  to  the  elevation  just  above^  where  rest  the  frag- 
ments of  the  Temple  of  Concord  —  the  old  pavement  with 
its  broad  stones  is  still  plainly  visible  descending  to 
the  Rostrum,  along  which  Cicero,  rushing  from  the 
Senate  House,  to  this  very  platform  where  we  are  now 
standing,  made  his  eloquent  appeal  to  the  people  in  the 
Forum,  against  Cataline.  At  each  extremity  of  this 
terraced  substruction  a  close  examination,  reveals  the  base- 
ment of  a  column  faced  still  with  portions  of  white  marble; 
it  is  the  remains  of  the  Umbilicus  Romae,  which  at  this 
point  marked  the  centre  of  the  city,  and  of  that  portion 
of  the  world  over  which  she  ruled. 

These  are  all  the  relics  of  ancient  Rome  that  remain  in 
the  space  walled  in,  at  the  foot  of  the  modern  Capitol. 
But  passing  out  of  this  enclosed  space,  descending  across 
the  Bridge  that  spans  the  hollow  near  the  Arch  of 
Severus,  and  facing  where  the  Arch  of  Titus  spans  the 
way  in  the  distance,  we  have  before  us  the  remaining  por- 


THE  FORUM.  269 

tion  of  the  now  desolate  district,  where  once  was  the 
celebrated  Roman  Forum.  Drawing  a  line  in  this  direc- 
tion, from  the  point  where  we  are  standing,  the  Arch  of 
of  Severus,  to  the  Church  della  Consolazione,  and  from  the 
same  Arch  to  the  Temple  of  Antoninus  and  Faustina;  we 
shall  have  some  notion  of  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
Roman  Forum.  The  Greek  Forums  were  squares  —  but 
the  Roman  were  all  oblong,  the  breadth  being  about 
two-thirds  of  the  entire  length.  Taking  the  boundaries 
given  above,  and  it  makes  the. length  of  the  Roman  Forum 
seven  hundred  and  'five  feet,  and  its  breadth  about  four 
hundred  and  seventy.  This  being  the  space  occupied  by  the 
Forum,  it  never  could  possibly  have  held  at  any  one  time 
half  the  structures  that  antiquarians  have  assigned  to  it. 
But  still  it  must  once  have  presented  a  most  imposing 
spectacle  with  Curiae,  Rostra,  and  magnificent  Basilicse. 
The  Via  Sacra,  entered  the  Forum  near  the  Temple  of 
Antoninus  and  Faustina,  passing  as  it  is  supposed  under 
the  old  Arch  of  Fabius,  of  which  Cicero  makes  mention, 
and  that  must  have  spanned  the  way  on  a  line  with 
the'  north  eastern  angle  of  this  temple.  It  is  melan- 
choly to  reflect,  how  few  fragments  now  remain  of  all  the 
magnificence  that  must  have  been  embraced  within  the 
limits  of  this  the  chief  of  the  Forums  in  Rome,  and  of 
which  the  statues,  portions  of  entablatures,  and  richly 
ornamented  friezes,  now  stored  in  the  Capitoline  and 
Vatican  Museums,  give  ample  evidence. 

Standing  by  the  Arch  of  Severus,  before  you  a  little 
to  the  right,  you  see  the  isolated  Corinthian  Pillar  de- 
scribed by  Byron,  as 

**  The  nameless  column  with  the  buried  base/' 

x2 


270  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

but  now  the  base  is  all  exposed.  The  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire has  the  merit  of  having  had  an  excavation  made 
round  it^  some  forty  years  ago,  at  which  time  an  inscrip- 
tion was  discovered  on  it,  setting  forth  that  it  was  erected 
in  608  to  the  Emperor  Phocas,  by  Smaragdus,  Ex-arch  of 
Italy,  and  that  a  gilt  statue  of  Phocas  once  ornamented 
the  summit.  This  Pillar  is  Corinthian  of  Greek  marble, 
and  fluted.  It  stands  upon  a  pyramid  of  eleven  steps, 
and  is  clearly  much  older  than  the  time  of  Phocas,  having 
been  taken  from  some  ancient  temple  which  it  once 
adorned.  A  little  beyond  this  column,  towards  the  Pala- 
tine Hill,  a  deep  excavation  reveals  the  scattered  fragments 
of  a  marble  pavement,  while  mutilated  capitals,  and  crum- 
bling* architraves  disclose  an  architectural  splendor,  long 
since  passed  away.  Here  once  stood  the  celebrated  Basilica 
erected  by  Julius  Caesar,  enlarged  and  completed  by  Augus- 
tus. This  was  once  and  long,  the  far-famed  seat  of  the  Cen- 
tumviral  Courts,  that  from  four  different  tribunals  dispensed 
justice  at  one  and  the  same  time  to  the  thronging  suitors. 
Cicero  delivered  here  that  eloquent  appeal  in  behalf  of 
Sextius  Roscius,  accused  of  the  murder  of  his  father. 
But  the  locality  possesses  a  greater  interest  from  the  fact, 
that  it  has  lately  been  ascertained,  it  covers  the  very 
spot  once  occupied  as  the  Comitium,  the  place  for  the 
public  assembly  of  the  Patricians.  It  was  here  that 
the  old  Senators  who  had  been  Consuls  and  Censors,  had 
won  triumphs,  and  grown  grey  in  the  country's  service, 
when  the  Gauls  approached,  devoted  themselves  to  destruc- 
tion. It  was  here  they  ordered  their  ivory  curule  chairs 
to  be  set — and  here  when  the  invading  barbarians  reached 
the  Forum,  they  turned  and  beheld  these  venerable  men, 
sitting  like  so  many  gods  descended  from  heaven  to  protect 


THE  FORUM.  271 

and  defend  the  city.  Upon  this  venerable  array  they 
gazed  with  silent  awe,  until  a  barbarian  more  daring  than 
the  rest^  ventured  to  stroke  the  long  silvery  beard  of  M. 
Papirius,  and  received  a  blow  from  the  ivory  staff  of 
the  old  hero;  whereupon  the  barbarian  in  wrath  slew  him, 
and  this  first  sword  stroke,  gave  the  signal  for  a  general 
slaughter. 

A  little  beyond  the  site  of  the  Basilica  Julia,  are  three 
solitary  columns,  close  to  the  Palatine,  and  marking  the 
limit  of  the  south-east  boundary  of  the  Forum.  These 
pillars,  as  well  as  the  fragment  of  the  architrave  and 
cornice  supported  by  them,  are  among  the  most  beautiful 
architectural  remains  of  ancient  Rome.  These  pillars 
have  in  truth  been  a  perfect  stumbling  block  to  anti- 
quaries, no  less  than  twenty  names  having  already  been 
bestowed  on  them.  It  is  now  established  beyond  a 
question,  that  they  belong  to  the  portico  of  the  Temple  of 
Castor  and  Pollux,  erected  by  Tiberius.  Among  all, 
Time  has  spared  of  Imperial. Rome,  nothing  gives  one  so 
exalted  an  idea  of  the  perfection  and  beauty  of  ancient 
architecture  as  these  three  pillars.  The  ornaments  of 
the  capitals  and  entablature  are  as  rich  and  elegant,  as 
they  are  pure  and  graceful.  They  are  of  white  marble, 
of  the  purest  Corinthian,  and  the  largest  fluted  columns 
in  Rome.  Considerable  force  appears  to  have  been  used 
in  order  to  destroy  this  temple,  as  it  is  clear  to  be  seen, 
that  some  of  the  blocks  composing  the  shafts,  have  re- 
ceived a  violent  wrench,  so  as  to  force  them  out  of  their 
places,  and  thus  destroy  the  continuity  of  their  fluting.  It 
must  have  been  somewhere  near  the  spot  where  this  temple 
stood,  were  collected  the  waters  of  Lake  Juturna  in  whose 
depths  the  twin  brethren  disappeared  after  bringing  the 


272  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

news  of  the  defeat  of  the  Latins,  with  such  supernatural 
speed.  Not  far  from  it,  must  have  been  the  Yelabrian 
Marsh,  into  which  Quintius  Curtius  leaped,  devoting  him- 
self a  sacrifice  to  his  country.  Of  the  Lake  and  the 
Marsh  there  are  now  no  traces  in  the  Forum  :  but  a  spring 
bursts  forth  near  the  Cloaca  Maxima,  considerably  beyond 
the  Roman  and  even  of  the  Boarian  Forum,  which  still 
goes  by  the  classic  name  of  Juturna. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Forum,  almost  in  a  direct 
line,  are  the  fragments  of  the  Portico,  belonging  to  the 
Temple  of  Antoninus  and  Faustina  his  wife.  The  line 
thus  drawn,  forms  the  extreme  southern  limit  of  the 
Forum,  extending  from  the  base  of  the  Capitoline  Hill. 
This  temple  was  converted  into  the  Church  of  S.  Lorenzo 
in  Miranda.     The  inscription  upon  the  frieze  still  remains : 

"  Divo  Antonino.    Et. 
Divae  Faustinaae.    Ex.  S.  C." 

A  considerable  portion  of  the  ancient  building  is  preserved; 
but  the  principal  part  is  the  Portico  of  ten  columns,  six 
in  front  and  two  on  each  side.  They  are  Corinthian,  and 
of  the  marble  which  is  called  Cippolino  by  the  Italians, 
from  its  laminar  composition  resembling  onions.  All  the 
cornice  of  the  front  has  disappeared,  as  have  the  shafts  of 
the  pilasters  at  the  sides;  but  some  ornaments  in  the 
frieze,  consisting  of  griffins  and  candelabra  are  still  tole- 
rably perfect. 

A  little  removed  from  the  central  line  of  the  Forum, 
and  directly  under  the  Palatine  Hill,  stands  the  little 
Church  of  Saint  Theodore.  It  occupies  the  substructions 
of  the  Temple  of  Romulus,  which  stood  nearly  at  the  end 
of  the  Forum,  on  the  very  spot  where  the  twin  brothers 
were  nursed  by  the  wolf.  When  paganism  threw  open 
the  brazen  doors  of  this   temple,  the  weak  and  sickly 


THE  FORUM. 


273 


children  of  the  Romans  were  brought  here  to  bo  cured — 
and  the  same  practice  still  prevails  in  the  Christian  Church 
of  Saint  Theodore.  It  was  probably  along  the  middle  of 
this  Forum,  the  shops  of  artizans  and  inerchants  were 
erected  in  the  days  of  its  glory  —  or  perhaps  might  have 
been  constructed  along  the  sides,  after  the  manner  of 
of  the  Palais  Royal,  or  St.  Mark's  Place  at  Venice.  It 
was  somewhere  near  the  centre  pf  the  open  space  of  the 
Forum,  that  tradition  assigns  as  the  spot,  where  Virginius 
saved  his  daughter  from  *'  the  nameless  evil  that  passeth 
taunt  and  blow,'^  when 

"  Lifting  high  the  steel,  he  smote  her  in  the  side, 
And  in  her  blood,  she  sank  to  earth  and  with  one  sob  she  died. 
******* 
Then,  for  a  little  moment,  all  people  held  their  breath, 
And  through  the  crowded  Forum  was  stillness  as  of  death  ; 
And  in  another  moment  brake  forth  from  one  and  all 
A  cry,  as  if  the  Volscians  were  coming  o'er  the  wall. 
Some  with  averted  /aces  shrieking  fled  home  amain, 
Some  ran  to  call  a  leech;  and  some  to  lift  the  slain ; 
Some  felt  her  lips  and  little  wrist ;  if  life  might  there  be  found  : 
And  some  tore  up  their  garments  fast  and  strove  to  staunch  the 

wound. 
In  vain  they  ran,  and  fiflt  and  staunched :  for  never  truer  blow 
That  good  right  arm  had  dealt  in  tight  against  the  Volscian  foe." 

We  have  now  examined  all  the  ruins  that  remain  to 
tell  of  the  magnificence  of  this  once  celebrated  spot.  These 
are  all  the  relics  of  a  past  age  now  to  be  seen  in  the  space 
once  occupied  as  the  Roman  Forum.  And  when  one 
gazes  on  its  circumscribed  limits,  and  remembers  what  in 
the  long  course  of  ages  has  passed  within  its  confines,  he 
feels  that  he  stands  upon  one  of  the  most  interestiug  spots 
in  the  world.  If  one  could  wish  to  meditate  and  moralize 
upon  the  vicissitudes  of  human  greatness,  it  certainly 
would  be  here. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WANDERINGS   AMONG   ROMAN    RUINS. 

The  Arch  of  Titus  —  The  Colosseum  —  The  Meta  Sudans  —  Arch  of 
Conslantine  —  Ruins  of  Nero's  Golden  House  —  Baths  of  Cara- 
calla  — Bdths  of  Titus  —  Temple  of  Minerva  Medica  —  Baths  of 
Diocletian  —  Forum  Boarium — Arch  of  Janus  —  Forum  of  Nerva 
—  Trajan's  Forum  —  Column  of  Trajan — Temple  of  Vesta. 

Passing  beyond  the  limits  of  the  Roman  Forum,  a  few 
steps  from  its  southern  line,  and  on  your  left  as  you  ap- 
proach the  Arch  of  Titus  —  massive  fragments  of  walls — 
broken  columns,  and  sculptured  cornices,  lie  scattered  about 
in  all  directions.  Above  these  shattered  relics,  three 
huge  arches  seventy -five  feet  in  the  span  each,  darken  the 
earth  with  their  shadow.  These  colossal  arches  have  long 
served  as  a  model  to  architects  for  all  the  larger  Churches 
in  Rome.  They  passed  for  a  long  period,  and  by  some 
are -Still  called  the  Ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Peace;  but 
they  are  the  last  remains  of  the  Basilica  erected  by  Max- 
entius,  completed  and  partially  rebuilt  by  Constaniine, 
and  now  called  the  Basilica  of  Constantino.  A  small  por- 
tion of  the  original  building  only  remains;  but  these 
parts  of  it  are  on  a  prodigious  scale.  If  one  would  form 
a  perfect  conception  of  the  original  splendor  of  this  struc- 
ture, let  him  go  and  view  the  vast  and  elegant  proportions  of 
the  column  that  stands  in  front  of  the  Church  of  St.  Maria 
Maggiore.  It  once  formed  one  of  the  eight  pillars  which' 
supported  the  central  arches  of  this  ancient  Basilica. 
Canina  calculates  the  entire  length  of  this  Temple  or  Ba- 
silica, to  have  been  over  three  hundred  feet,  while  its 
width  exceeded  two  hundred.     It  once  no  doubt  was  the 


THE  ARCH  OF  TITUS.  275 

most  magnificent  structure  of  the  age  in  which  it  was 
reared.  But  now,  with  its  bosom  thrown  open  to  the 
winds,  it  gathers  in  its  deep  coflfers  the  driving  dust  and 
chaflf — while  the  sparrow  and  the  linnet  nestle  in  the 
spring  of  its  tremendous  arches. 

Continuing  on,  along  the  Sacra  Via,  that  passes  by 
this  Basilica, .  in  a  few  moments  you  find  yourself  be- 
neath the  Arch  of  Titus.  It  stands  at  the  foot  of  the 
Palatine  Hill,  on  the  road  leading  from  the  Forum  to  the 
Colosseum.  It  was  just  falling  to  ruin,  when  in  the 
beginning  of  this  century  an  outside  casing  of  white  mar- 
ble restored  it  to  its  original  proportions,  and  has  been  the 
means  of  preserving  the  interior  of  the  Arch,  and  the  in- 
teresting sculptures  that  adorn  it.  This  Arch  was  erected 
by  the  Senate  and  People  of  Rome,  to  commemorate  the 
triumph  which  followed  the  taking  of  Jerusalem  by  Titus. 
You  read  the  old  Koman  inscription, 

"Senatus  Popvlusqve  Rom-anvs 

Divo  Tito.    Divi  Vespasiani  F. 

^Vespasiano  Augusto." 

as  distinctly  as  if  it  had  been  only  carved  yesterday. 
From  the  expression  Divo  Tito,  it  appears  that  it  was  not 
erected  until  after  his  death,  which  the  apotheosis  of  the 
Emperor,  still  represented  on  the  roof  of  the  arch  would 
also  seem  to  indicate.  The  inside  of  the  arch  is  elabo- 
rately decorated  with  sunk  square  pannelings.  On  one  of 
the  interior  walls  is  a  bas-relief,  representing  this  Emperor 
celebrating  his  triumph  over  the  Jews.  He  is  in  a  chariot 
drawn  by  four  horses  abreast,  attended  by  a  group  of  Se- 
nators, and  accompanied  by  a  figure  of  Victory,  who  holds 
a  wreath  over  his  head.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  Arch, 
are  the  famous  reliefs,  representing  the  sacred  vessels 


276  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

taken  from  the  Temple  of  Jerusalem,  and  carried  in  the 
triumphal  procession  by  the  victorious  Romans.  First  is 
a  standard  bearer  leading  the  way  under  a  triumphal  arch. 
Eight  Romans  follow,  with  wreaths  around  their  brows, 
bearing  the  table  of  the  shew  bread — the  golden  candle- 
stick, the  vessel  of  incense,  and  the  two  trumpets,  used  to 
proclaim  the  year  of  jubilee.  The  seven-branched  candle- 
stick, is  represented  as  very  richly  embossed.  Judging 
from  the  size  of  the  men,  this  candlestick  must  have  been 
some  six  feet  in  height.  The  lower  parts  of  the  human 
figures  are  very  much  mutilated  and  defaced,  but  the 
upper  parts  are  in  a  wonderful  state  of  preservation.  The 
sacred  vessels  themselves,  from  which  the  ancient  artist 
copied  these  interesting  reliefs,  have  long  since  disappeared. 
Their  history  can  be  traced  down  to  a  late  period ;  but 
what  finally  became  of  them,  perhaps  can  never  be  satis- 
factorily ascertained.  Josephus  says,  that  the  Books  of 
the  Law,  were  placed  in  the  Palace  at  Rome,  and  the  can- 
dlestick and  other  spoils  were  kept  in  the  Temple  of 
Peace,  which  stood  originally  very  near,  and  almost  in  a 
line  with  the  present  Arch.  When  the  Temple  of  Peace 
was  burnt  in  the  reign  of  Commodus,  these  treasures  it  is 
said,  were  not  destroyed,  but  carried  off  by  Genseric  the 
Goth,  into  Africa,  after  which  no  traces  of  them  can  be 
had.  It  is  true  that  the  Romish  Church  professes  to  pre- 
serve the  Ark  of  the  Covenant  in  the  Church  of  St.  John 
Lateran;  but  as  Josephus  says  it  was  never  brought  to 
Rome,  it  may  be  that  they  sent  a  special  messenger  after 
it  in  the  time  of  Constantine,  when  the  Scala  Santa,  the 
portions  of  the  true  Cross,  and  other  equally  veritable 
relics  found  their  way,  through  the  zeal  of  Helena,  to  the 
Eternal  City. 


THE   COLOSSEUM.  157  < 

The  Sacred  Temple  of  the  Jews,  from  which  these 
vessels  were  torn,  and  of  which  the  bas-reliefs  are  no  doubt 
accurate  representations,  has  been  overthrown  and  is  trod- 
den under  foot  of  the  Gentiles.  Looking  at  that  repre- 
sentation of  the  triumphal  procession,  bearing  along  in  sad 
array  God's  chosen  people,  the  mind  instinctively  recalls 
the  sound  and  utterance  of  that  dread  voice  from  Mount 
Necho : . "  when  ye  do  evil  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord,  he  shall 
scatter  you  among  the  nations,  and  ye  shall  be  left  few  in 
number  among  the  heathen,  whither  the  Lord  shall  send 
you."  The  Roman  general  was  blind  to  the  great  results  he 
was  accomplishing,  when  he  left  not  one  stone  upon  another 
of 'the  magnificent  Jewish  Temple.  Nor  did  he  discern 
the  hand  leading  his  captives,  as  the  triumphal  procession 
swept  up  the  very  path,  now  spanned  by  the  graceful  Arch. 
The  descendants  of  these  very  captive  Jews  may  still  be 
seen  in  Rome,  a  despised,  and  a  degraded  race.  But  who 
doubts,  that  the  promise  is  still  theirs,  and  their  habita- 
tion an  appointed  one. 

Having  emerged  from  the  shade  of  the  Arch  of  Titus, 
and  passing  down  the  pathway  leading  along  the  base  of 
the  Palatine  Mount,  through  which,  above  the  earth,  like 
the  bones  of  an  emaciated  figure  peeping  through  the  flesh, 
are  to  be  seen  the  fragments  of  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars ; 
the  immense  mass  of  the  Colosseum  startles  you  by  its 
magnitude.  It  was  first  bathed  with  the  tears  of  captive 
Jews,  who  assisted  in  laying  its  massive  foundations,  while 
its  arena  has  been  stained  with  the  blood  of  martyrs,  gladi- 
ators, and  wild  beasts.  It  covers  an  area  whose  circum- 
ference is  nearly  two  thousand  feet.  The  wall  encom- 
passing its  ellipse  towers  to  the  astonishing  elevation  of 
one  hundred  and  sixty-five  feet.      It  is   constructed   of 

Y 


278  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

huge  blocks  of  travertine,  some  of  whicli  are  fully  six 
feet  long,  five  and  a  half  broad,  and  nearly  three  feet  thick. 
Upon  the  marble  seats  that  once  adorned  its  sides,  eighty- 
seven  thousand  people  could  be  comfortably  seated,  while 
twenty  thousand  more  could  find  room  above.  Comparing 
the  present  appearance  of  this  structure  with  what  it  must 
have  been  formerly,  it  will  be  found,  that  immense  as  it  is, 
two  thirds  of  the  stone  that  composed  it,  is  actually  gone. 
It  is  said  to  have  suffered  by  earthquakes,  and  for  a  long 
while  was  a  vast  stone  quarry  for  some  of  the  builders  of 
modern  Rome.  The  Palazzo  Farnese,  that  of  Venice,  and 
the  Cancellaria,  as  well  as  the  Porto  di  Ripetta,  and  the 
Churches  of  S.  Lorenzo,  and  S.  Agostino,  are  known,  to 
have  been  built  from  it.  In  the  fury  of  the  civil  conten- 
tions that  deluged  Rome  with  blood  during  the  middle 
ages^  the  leaders  of  the  different  factions,  found  in  this 
colossal  structure  a  number  of  strong  fortresses.  Soon 
after  the  civil  wars  its  materials  were  used  to  make  lime, 
and  so  in  one  way  or  the  other,  the  Vandals  of  modern 
times  have  endeavored  by  pillage,  by  leaguer  and  storm 
to  mutilate  and  destroy;  and  earthquakes  too  have  spent 
their  fruitless  rage  upon  it  —  and  yet  it  stands,  and  seems 
likely  to  confer  upon  the  famous  saying  of  the  venerable 
Bede,  the  dignity  of  a  prophecy.  The  pillage  is  now  at 
an  end,  and  the  whole  consecrated  by  the  ungainly  looking 
cross,  which  erected  in  the  centre  of  the  arena,  holds 
out  for  every  kiss,  an  indulgence  of  two  hundred  days. 
The  innermost  circle  of  the  arena,  is  very  much  marred 
by  the  sacred  stations,  in  which  the  different  events  in  the 
passion  of  our  Saviour,  are  painted  most  vilely. 

Never  did  human  art  present  to  the  eye  a  fabric  so  well 
calculated  by  its  form  and  size,  to  surprise  and  delight. 
Viewed  as  an  abstract  mass^  it  tells  of  the  masters  of  the 


ARCH  OF  CONSTANTINE.  279 

world,  and  lowers  the  present  generation  of  architects  to 
the  grade  of  pigmies.  The  vast  loftiness  of  its  perpen- 
dicular —  the  tremendous  sweep  of  the  curve  of  its  arches, 
rising  tier  after  tier,  one  hundred  and  sixty  feet  in  the  air 
•^•the  bold  ring  lines  of  the  ellipse,  which  clip  the  arena 
within,  all  are  perfectly  wonderful.  What  a  tale  this  old 
pile  could  tell,  if  those  moss-covered  stones  could  "cry  out 
of  the  wall"  —  stories  of  the  desperate  struggles  of  the 
Gaulish  captive  —  the  supplicating  look  —  the  agonizing 
cry  of  the  gladiator  as  he  fell  upon  the  bloody  sand  to  die 
—  the  last  faint  moan  of  the  good  old  Christian  Bishop 
Ignatius,  as  the  teeth  and  claws  of  the  starved  lions,  wero 
■fleshed  in  his  aged  side. 

Northwest  of  the  Colosseum,  may  be  noticed  the  remains 
of  a  brick  pillar  commonly  called  the  Meta  Sudans,  and 
supposed  to  be  the  fountain  built  by  Titus,  between  the 
Colosseum  and  the  Palatine  Hill.  It  was  within  its  spa- 
cious basin,  the  outline  of  which  is  plainly  visible,  that 
the  gladiators  are  supposed  to  have  refreshed  themselves, 
and  washed  away  the  bloody  stains  of  the  struggle  in  the 
arena. 

At  the  southeast  corner  of  the  Palatine  Hill,  and  very 
near  the  Colosseum,  spanning  the  old  Triumphal  Way,  is 
the  celebrated  Arch  of  Constantino.  This  structure  is 
formed  upon  the  purest  models.  It  consists  of  three 
arches,  of  which  the  centre  is  the  largest ;  and  has  two 
fronts,  each  adorned  with  four  columns  of  giallo  antico, 
marble  of  the  Corinthian  order,  and  fluted,  supporting  a 
cornice,  on  which  stand  four  Dacian  captive  Kings,  sculp- 
tured in  violet  colored  marble,  and  surmounted  by  a  cor- 
responding entablature.  The  inscriptions,  excepting  the 
spaces  above  the  principal  arch,  and  the  side  divisions,  are 


180 


FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 


ornamented  with  the  admirable  relievo  medallions  brought 
hither  from  the  Arch  of  Trajan,  which  once  stood  in  the 
Forum,  where  now  is  to  be  seen  the  column  erected  to  that 
Emperor.  This  arch  is  interesting  aside  from  its  beauty 
of  proportion,  as  having  been  the  last  monument  of  the 
Homan  Senate  and  people.  It  is  the  last  memento  of  the 
conquering  race  of  Caesars.  As  a  concluding  scene  of 
JRoman  triumph,  it  is  not  unworthy  the  brightest  days  of 
the  Empire ; — but,  like  the  fading  glories  it  commemo- 
rates, it  is  only  the  reflected  splendor  of  the  sun,  which 
continues  to  gild  the  horizon  after-  the  blazing  orb  itself 
has  disappeared. 

As  you  pass  under  this  Arch  and  along  the  old  Trium- 
phal Way,  the  rather  steep  hill  on  your  right  is  the  Pala- 
tini, connected  most  intimately  with  every  period  of  Ro- 
man story.  It  was  the  birth-place  of  the  infant  republic 
of  Komulus,  and  upon  it,  he  laid  the  foundations  of  the 
mighty  nation,  which  afterwards  gave  laws  to  a  subject 
world.  That  hill  once  contained  the  whole  of  Rome  itself: 
but  when  she  had  extended  her  conquests,  and  the  world's 
tribute  was  poured  into  her  lap  —  it  was  too  small  to  hold 
the  palace  of  one  Emperor.  Those  huge  and  shapeless 
masses  of  brick  work,  that  may  be  seen  rising  on  the 
western  side,  are  but  a  mere  fragment  of  the  double  ar- 
cades, that  supported  a  part  of  the  Golden  House  of  Nero, 
which  once  shone  resplendent  upon  this  Hill.  The  floor- 
ing of  the  vanished  apartments,  covered  with  stucco,  now 
serves  to  form  a  noble  terrace,  surrounded  by  a  profusion 
of  shrubs,  which  have  been  long  sufi'ered  to  run  into  wild 
luxuriance,  and  clamber  over  every  loose  stone,  and  broken 
arch.  At  one  end  of  this  terrace  may  be  noticed  a  small 
circular  apartment,   and  a   narrow  deep   cavity  almost 


BATHS   OF   CAKACALLA.  281 

filled  up  with  the  spreading  branches  of  trees,  that  flourish 
with  peculiar  luxuriance  round  this  part  of  the  ruins. 
This  apartment  is  known  as  the  Cabinet  of  Nero.  The 
celebrated  Circus  Maximus,  was  located  directly  in  the 
valley  below,  lying  between  the  Palatine  and  Aventino. 
And  it  is  supposed  that  it  was  from  this  Cabinet,  the 
Emperor  overlooked  the  games  in  the  arena  below,  and 
gave  the  signal  for  their  commencement.  The  adjoining 
cavity  is  also  circular,  but  much  smaller.  It  is  popularly 
termed  the  Bath  of  Seneca,  on  the  supposition  of  that 
philoj^opher  having  been  put  to  death  there,  by  order 
of  the  tyrant :  but  it  most  probably  enclosed  a  private 
staircase,  by  which  the  suspicious  Emperor  might  ascend 
ta  his  favorite  retreat. 

Next  to  the  Colosseum,  I  know  of  no  memorials  of  the 
past  in  Rome,  which  astonish  you  more  than  the  ruins  of 
the  Baths  of  Caracalla.  They  occupy  part  of  the  declivity 
of  the  Aventine,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  plain 
between  it  and  Mons  Celius.  The  length  of  these  baths, 
was  nearly  tWo  thousand  feet,  while  their  breadth  was 
nearly  five  hundred.  The  outward  wall  may  be  traced  in 
almost  its  whole  circuit,  though  it  has  lost  something  of 
its  height.  The  number  of  rooms  in  the  interior,  and  the 
dimensions  of  somo  of  them,  startle  us  at  the  present  day. 
One  chamber  in  particular,  supposed  to  be  the  Cella  Sole- 
aris,  is  over  two  hundred  feet  long,  and  nearly  one  hundred 
and  fifty  in  width.  This  hall  received  its  name  from  the 
roof,  which  was  formed  by  Egyptian  artists  of  bars  of  gilt 
metal,  crossed  in  the  manner  of  the  fastenings  used  in  the 
sandals  worn  in  those  days.  At  the  end  of  the  structure 
were  two  temples,  one  to  Apollo,  and  one  to  Esculapius. 
In  the  principal  building  was  in  the  first  place,  a  grand 
y2 


282"  FOREIGN  ErCHINGS, 

circular  vestibule,  with  four  balls  on  each  side,  for  cold, 
tepid^  warm  and  steam  batbs.  In  the  centre,  was  an  im- 
mense square  for  exercise,  when  tbe  weather  was  unfavor- 
able; beyond  it  a  great  hall,  where  sixteen  hundred  marble 
seats  were  placed  for  tbe  convenience  of  batbers.  At  each 
end  of  the  hall  were  libraries.  The  building  terminated 
©n  both  sides  in  a  court  surrounded  with  porticoes.  Round 
Ihc  edifice  were  walks  shaded  by  trees,  and  in  its  front 
extended  a  gymnasium,  for  running,  wrestling,  and  other 
athletic  sports  in  fine  weather.  The  whole  was  bounded 
by  a  magnificent  portico,  opening  into  spacious  halls,  where 
poets  declaimed  and  philosophers  lectured.  Now  all  this 
magnificence  is  shadowed  forth  in  immense  vaulted  halls, 
with  half  the  roof  fallen  in;  massive  heaps  of  masoni^', 
lying  in  every  direction;  mosaic  flooring  still  preserving 
its  form  and  color;  blocks  of  marble  and  enormous  arches, 
exhibiting  the  rich  warm  tints  that  distinguish  the  Roman 
ruinis,  variegated  by  every  variety  of  beautiful  verdure. 
As  we  entered  the  mighty  precincts,  the  warm  sun  of  an 
Italian  spring  was  lighting  up  the  varied  masses  of  this 
architectural  Anak.  The  ruins  of  these  baths  enchant  you 
by  their  simple,  absolute  magnitude.  You  can  easily  com- 
prehend, as  you  study  their  vast  proportions,  how  those 
monster  creations  of  the  ancient  chisel — the  Farnese  Bull, 
the  Hercules  and  Flora  should  have  been  found  within 
their  magnificent  penetralia.  Extensive  as  these  ruins  arc, 
still  the  Baths  of  Caracalla  were  not  the  largest  Thermaj 
in  Rome;  which  fact  gives  one  an  exalted  idea  of  the 
architectural  genius  and  grandeur  of  this  wonderful  people. 
On  the  Escjuiline  Hill,  over  against  the  Colosseiim,  may 
be  seen  the  remains  of  what  are  known  as  the  Baths  of  Titus. 
When  Titus  rested  from  his  labors  after  the  completion  of 


BATHS   OF   CARACALLA.  283 

tliG  Colosseum,  he  conceived  the  idea  of  crectinf]^  mag- 
niliccnt  Baths  upon  the  adjoining  heights  of  the  Esquiline, 
and  he  carried  his  plan  into  speedy  execution,  by  convert- 
ing the  buildings  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  which  belonged 
to  the  Golden  Palace  of  Nero,  into  sub-structions,  whereon 
he  could  rest  his  immense  edifice.  The  house  of  Ma3- 
cenas,  alluded  to  by  Horace,  stood  here,  and  this  also 
the  Emperor  brought  into  use  in  the  construction  of  the 
]5aths  that  bear  his  name.  There  is  nothing  very  interest- 
ing about  the  huge  and  shapeless  mass  of  these  ruins; 
much  soil  has  accumulated  on  their  top,  and  now  serves 
for  gardens.  In  the  vaults  beneath,  which  one  is  only 
able  to  explore  by  torch-light,  may  be  seen  portions  of 
painted  ceilings;  and  the  arabesques,  now  fast  fading  away 
in  the  dampness,  from  which  RafFael  is  said  to  have  taken 
some  oi  his  hints  in  his  ornaments  of  the  Vatican.  It  was 
in  one  of  these  vaulted  chambers  that  the  group  of  the 
Laocoon  was  found.  And  here  this  magnificent  work  could 
only  have  been  seen  by  torch-light,  which  I  was  afterwards 
satisfied,  is  the  true  light,  to  bring  out  and  develop  all  its 
beauties.  On  visiting  the  Vatican  by  torch-light  during 
my  stay  in  Rome,  there  was  a  general  expression  of  admi- 
ration when  the  blaze  fell  upon  this  wonderful  creation. 
The  rising  of  the  muscles,  and  all  those  delicate  touches  of 
the  chisel,  which  are  scarcely  observed  by  day  on  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  white  marble,  were  thrown  into  a  much 
stronger  light  and  shade,  and  stood  powerfully  forth  on 
that  occasion,  giving  us  a  stronger  conception  of  the  excel- 
lencies of  the  work,  than  we  had  before  entertained.  The 
original  entrance  to  these  Baths,  has  not  yet  been  disco- 
vered, and  the  present  mode  of  getting  to  them  is  by  a 
temporary  wooden  staircase  penetrating  the  roof.     In  a 


284  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

vineyard  higher  up  the  Esquiline.and  sloping  towards  the 
Colosseum,  may  be  seen  the  Sette  Sale,  a  row  of  chambers 
believed  to  have  been  reservoirs  of  water,  for  the  use  of 
the  .baths.  They  are  low,  long,  dark,  uarrow,  vaulted 
apartments,  covered  with  a  very  hard,  white  stucco,  each 
one  exactly  like  its  neighbor.  Their  broken  walls  and 
roof  are  now  luxuriantly  covered  with  ivy  and  other  creep- 
ing plants.  It  was  in  the  vaults  of  the  Baths  of  Titus 
was  found  that  celebrated  painting,  called  the  Nozze  Aldo- 
brandi ;  which  though  seventeen  hundred  years  old,  still  re- 
tains all  the  freshness  and  spirit  of  a  painting  of  yesterday. 
The  Esquiline  i^  the  most  extensive  of  the  seven  hills, 
and  the  desolate  district  now  forming  its  greatest  portion, 
is  occupied  only  by  vineyards,  neglected  villas,  and  desert- 
ed churches.  There  is  another  ruin  upon  it,  near  the 
Porta  Maggiore,  in  the  midst  of  an  extensive  vineyard, 
which  in  some  respects,  is  by  far  the  most  picturesque  of 
any  in  Rome.  I  allude  to  the  lonely  ruin  of  the  Temple 
of  Minerva  Medica.  Though  the  brick  walls  only  of  this 
building  aie  standing,  its  ruins  are  particularly  beautiful. 
The  vaulted  roof,  broken  into  long  narrow  strips,  appears 
to  hang  in  air,  admitting  partial  rays  of  sunshine,  which 
streaming  over  the  tall  reeds  that  spring  up  in  wild  luxu- 
riance, and  on  the  masses  of  ruin  that  have  fallen  in 
above,  -and  now  partly  fill  up  the  interior,  produce  a  strik- 
ingly picturesque  effect.  Its  singular  form  and  lonely 
situation  render  it  one  of  the  most  remarkable  ruins  of 
Rome,  and  the  melancholy  air  it  assumes  is  assisted  by 
the  gigantic  fragments  of  the  neighboring  aqueducts, 
which  stretching  across  hill  and  dale  in  majestic  desolation, 
present  an  image  of  yet  more  total  destruction.  This  tem- 
ple was  decagonal,  with  a  spacious  dome.     It  was  in  one 


BATHS  OP  DIOCLETIAN.  285 

of  it^  recesses,  the  beautiful  statue  of  the  Minerva  Medica 
was  found,  whict  now  adorns  the  Chiaramonte  Gallery, 
in  the  Vatican. 

On  the  Quirinal  Hill,  separated  from  the  Esquiline,  by 
the  narrow  and  flattish  surface  of  the  Viminal,  are  to  be 
seen  the  stupendous  remains  of  the  Baths  of  Diocletian. 
These  baths  were  the  largest  in  Rome.  About  the  latter 
part  of  the  second  century,  the  Emperor  Diocletian  return- 
ed from  Africa,  breathing  fierce  threatcnings  against  the 
Christians  who  were  in  Rome.  All  those  who  could 
be  found,  daring  to  avow  themselves  of  the  new  religion, 
were  immediately  condemned  to  work  in  the  building  of 
these  baths.  The  numbers  thus  employed  are  variously 
estimated  at  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  thousand,  and  these 
were  murdered  in  cold  blood,  immediately  after  the  work 
was  finished.  Part  of  the  stupendous  brick  ruins  which 
remain  of  this  structure, 

*'  Pefaced  by  jtime,  and  tottering  in  decay," 

has  been  used  as  a  corn-granary  by  the  government.  The 
Church  of  Santa  Maria  d'Angeli,  belonging  to  a  convent, 
the  convent  itself,  the  neighboring  Church  of  San  Ber- 
nardo, the  walls  of  its  gardens,  and  those  of  several  villas, 
are  all  now  formed  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  upper  story  of 
this  structure,  the  lower  one  being  buried  under  the  super- 
incumbent buildings.  The  Church  of  Santa  Maria  d'An- 
geli  is  a  circular  structure,  which  was  once  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal halls  of  these  baths.  Here  still  are  to  be  seen  the  eight 
immense  columns  of  oriental  granite,  that  formerly  stood 
in  this  apartment,  now  forming  the  chief  beauty  of  the 
modern  church.  Here,  too  may  be  noticed  the  ancient 
cofnice  and  the  knobs  of  brass  on  the  vaulted  ceiling. 


286 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


from  which  were  suspended  the  twenty-eight  lamps,  that 
in  the  days  of  Diocletian  lit  up  this  spacious  hall.  The 
short  space  that  intervenes  between  these  ruins  and  the 
walls  of  the  city  claims  considerable  notice  from  the  fact, 
that  it  was  there  the  Pretorian  Bands,  the  support,  but  the 
terror  also,  of  the  later  Emperors  used  to  encamp ;  and 
there  in  earlier  periods  the  city  was  defended  by  the  ram- 
parts of  Sei*vius  Tullius.  It  is  in  vain  now  that  you  search 
for  any  remains  of  this  ancient  defence  of  the  city  .from 
the  incursions  of  the  neighboring  Sabines  and  warlike  na- 
tions, who  at  that  period  swarmed  around  the  walls.  We 
have  thus  endeavored  to  comprehend  in  our  ramble  over 
the  seven  hills,  all  the  principal  ruins  that  are  scattered 
upon  them;  but  this  by  no  means  comprehends  all  the 
remains  that  tell  of  the  majesty  and  greatness  of  Imperial 
Rome. 

Between  four  of  the  seven  hills,  the  Capitoline,  Palatine, 
Caelian  and  Esquiline,  is  an  open  space  of  considerable 
extent.  It  is  west  of  the  Boman  Forum,  -and  nearest  to  the 
Tiber.  This  is  the  space  once  occupied  as  the  cattle  market 
of  old  Rome,  the  Forum  Boarium.  It  occupied  part  of  the 
Velabrian  Marsh,  after  it  was  filled  up.  The  Church  of 
San  Greorgio  in  Velabro,  whose  portico  is  decorated  with 
several  ancient  pillars,  is  supposed  to  stand  on  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Basilica,  or  place  of  Judgment,  for  the  causes 
of  this  Forum,  built  in  the  reign  of  Septimius  Severus. 
Adjoining  this  Church  may  be  noticed  the  fragment  of  a 
structure,  known  as  the  Arch  of  the  goldsmiths  and  cattle 
dealers,  which  is  said  to  have  been  erected  by  these  trades- 
men of  the  Forum  in  honor  of  the  Emperor  Severus.  The 
sculptures  that  once  adorned  this  arch,  are  very  much  de- 
faced.    Those  in  the  interior  represent  sacrifices  offered 


THE  FORUM   BOARIUM.  lib/ 

by  the  Emperor  and  his  sons.  On  the  last  the  figure  of 
Gcta  has  been  destroyed,  and  his  name  effaced  from  the 
inscription  after  his  murder,  by  the  orders  of  his  brother 
Caracalla.  Its  square  form,  more  resembles  a  gateway 
than  an  arch.  But  the  ruin  by  far  the  most  imposing  in 
its  appearance  in  this  Forum,  is  that  of  the  Arch  of  Janus, 
called  Quadrifrons.  •  It  has  a  somewhat  quaint  appearance, 
and  was  no  doubt,  originally  used  as  a  market  place. 
Being  erected  over  the  spot,  where  two  roads  intersecting 
the  cattle  market  met,  its  seems  to  have  marked  the  cen- 
tral point  of  the  traffic  carried  on  in  this  space.  It  may 
have  been  used  by  the  bankers  and  money  changers,  and 
Horace  perhaps. alludes  to  this  very  spot,  or  a  similar 
building  when  he  says, 

"Postquam  omnis  res  mea  Janum 
Ad  medium  fracta  est.    Sat.  ii.  3, 18." 
and 

"  Virtus  post  nummos.    Haec  Janus  summus  ab  imo 
Perdocet.    Epist.  i.  1,  54." 

It  is  built  of  Greek  marble,  which  brings  the  date  down  to 
the  end  of  the  Republic,  as  this  material  was  not  used 
until  that  time.  The  spot  on  which  the  arch  stands,  is 
surrounded  by  desolation  and  decay.  The  irregularity  of 
the  ground,  shows  that  underneath  it,  are  scattered  ruins, 
of  buildings  that  once  adorned  the  surface.  The  Cloaca 
Maxima  may  be  seen  close  by,  passing  under  the  stupen- 
dous arch  that  covers  it.  During  the  residence  of  the 
Popes  at  Avignon  in  the  fourteenth  century,  the  principal 
pa+rician  families  intrenched  themselves  within  this  arch 
of  Janus  as  a  fortress.  Thus  were  the  monuments  of  Ro- 
man splendor  which  even  Goths  ahd  Vandals  revered, 
sacrificed  by  the  remorseless  fury  of  civic  discord.  The 
greater  part  of  the  ruin  is  now  covered  with  ivy,  whose 


288  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

deep  verdure  and  heavy  luxuriance,  harmonize  well  with 
the  darkness  and  gloom  of  its  low  situation,  and  contribute 
to  shed  over  its  venerable  remains,  that  air  of  desolation 
with  which  the  imagination  loves  to  clothe  the  scenes  con- 
secrated by  the  remembrances  of  long  past  ages. 

A  little  removed  from  the  eastern  end^  of  the  Forum 
Romanum,  is  the  space  once  occupied  by  the  Forum  of 
Nerva.  The  Forum  of  Domitian  which  was  never,  I  believe, 
finished,  was  afterwards  included  in  that  of  Nerva,  that 
extended  from  thence  to  the  north.  The  only  trace 
of  the  architectural  grandeur  of  this  Forum  is  to  be  seen 
in  the  small  portion  of  the  Temple  of  Pallas  that  now  re- 
mains, with  its  pillars  sunk,  nearly  half  their  depth  in  the 
heaped  up  soil  of  modern  Rome.  It  is  sufficient,  however, 
to  give  one  an  idea  of  the  splendor  of  the  design.  The 
two  pillars  which  remain  support  an  architrave  adorned 
with  a  frieze.  On  the  attic  is  the  colossal  figure  of  Mi- 
nerva, represented  in  relief,  as  the  patroness  of  labor  :  on 
the  architrave  the  goddess  appears,  engaged  in  instructing 
young  girls  in  various  female  occupations,  and  punish- 
ing the  insolence  of  Arachne,  wha  had  ventured  to  com- 
pete with  her  in  the  labcJrs  of  the  loom.  Here  too  you 
may  notice,  beautifully  symbolized,  the  aqueducts  which 
supplied  Rome  with  such  copious  streams  of  water.  This 
Forum  was  sometimes  called  the  Forum  Transitorium, 
from  the  fact  that  the  main  thoroughfares  to  the  city 
passed  through  it.  It  is  now  one  of^  the  filthiest  parts  of 
modern  Rome,  and  it  is  very  difficult  to  realize,  amid  the 
piles  of  dirt,  and  forlorn  looking  buildings  which  cover  it, 
that  it  ever  was  magpificently  adorned.  Even  the  space 
between  the  pillars  of  the  Temple  of  Pallas  is  built  up, 
and  forms  the  front  walls  of  a  miserable  structure,  where 
a  cobbler  plies  his  trade.     This  temple  ia  clearly  alluded 


THE  BASILICA.  289 

to  by  Pliny,  when  ho  says — "  Then  the  Forum  was  dedi- 
cated, which  is  called  Pervium,  in  which  a  loftier  and 
more  magnificent  Temple  is  erected  to  Minerva." 

Originally  there  is  said  to  have  been  a  ridge  between  the 
Capitoline  and  Quirinal  Hills.  In  the  time  of  the  Emperor 
Trajan  this  ridge  was  all  cleared  away,  to  the  depth  of 
many  feet,  and  the  valley  widened  on  both  sides.  And 
here  this  magnificent  Emperor,  under  the  direction  of  his 
architect  Apollodorus,  laid  out  the  Basilica,  which  was  to 
form  the  central  point  of  the  Forum,  to  be  called  after  his 
name.  Those  fragments  of  granite  pillars  that  the  modern 
traveler  sees  in  that  walled  in  space  called  the  Forum  of 
Trajan,  is  but  the  middle  portion  of  this  Grand  Basilica. 
These  fragments  are  all  that  remain  of  the  double  row  of 
massive  columns  that  once  supported  the  bronze  roof  of 
the  magnificent  edifice.  That  stump  of  a  pillar  of  yellow 
marble  ornamented  its  side  front — those  yellow  marble 
steps,  to  be  seen  in  a  niche  in  the  enclosure,  once  led 
up  to  its  Portico.  And  just  in  the  rear  of  the  space 
occupied  by  this  splendid  Basilica  Ulpia,  so  called  from 
the  family  name  of  Trajan,  rises  the  magnificent  marble 
pillar  which  bears  the  name  of  the  column  of  Trajan.  This 
pillar  was  erected  about  the  year  115,  in  commemoration 
of  Trajan's  two  Dacian  campaigns,  and  from  the  inscrip- 
tion, was  the  work  of  the  People  and  Senate  of  Rome. 
The  shaft  itself  is  covered  with  bas-reliefs,  which  go  round 
the  whole  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  in  twenty-three 
spirals,  representing  the  exploits  of  the  Emperor  in  both 
his  Dacian  expeditions.  There  are  said  to  be  about  two 
thousand  five  hundred  figures  in  all,  and  the  figure  of  Tra- 
jan is  repeated  more  than  fifty  times.  These  figures  are 
abotit  two  feet  high  in  the  lower  part  of  the  column,  but 
z 


290  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

towards  the  top  they  increase  in  size,  that  they  may  appear 
the  same  from  below.  Thirty-three  separate  pieces  of 
marble  are  used  in  the  work.  There  is  a  spiral  staircase 
within,  which  winds  twelve  times  round,  and  contains, 
one  hundred  and  eighty-four  steps:  and  it  is  a  most 
remarkable  circumstance  that  this  staircase  is  .not  a 
separate  work,  but  is  cut  out  of  the  same  stones  of 
which  the  shaft  itself  is  composed.  A  statue  of  the  Empe- 
ror formerly  surmounted  the  whole,  twenty-one  feet  high. 
A  Pope  of  the  sixteenth  century,  finding  the  Emperor's 
place  vacant,  elevated  there  a  statue  of  St.  Peter  in  gilt 
bronze,  who  seems  out  of  place,  surmounting  a  column 
erected  to  commemorate  the  warlike  exploits  of  a  Pagan 
Emperor.  The  space  which  passes  as  the  Forum  Tra- 
janum,  is  nothing  more  than  a  portion  of  that  once  occu- 
pied by  the  magnificent  circuit,  now  covered  by  the  build- 
ings of  modern  Rome^  and  where  palaces,  gymnasiums  and 
libraries,  of  old  attested  the  stupendous  designs  of  its 
architect. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  introduce  the  reader  to  all  the 
ruins  that  remain  of  ancient  Rome,  the  mere  catalogue  of 
which,  would  almost  of  itself,  make  a  volume;  but  I  can- 
not conclude  this  chapter  without  a  brief  allusion  to  the 
little  Temple  of  Vesta,  which  stands  by  the  banks  of  the 
Tiber,  in  the  Piazza  di  Bocca  della  Verita.  I  hardly 
think  that  it  is  older  than  the  age  of  Augustus.  It  is  cir- 
cular, with  a  portico  all  round  it,  and  had  originally  twenty 
Corinthian  columns,  fluted;  one  of  which  is  now  wanting. 
The  cornice  also,  and  the  ancient  roof,  have  disappeared. 
In  Ovid's  time  it  was  covered  with  a  dome  of  brass.  In  other 
respects  it  is  tolerably  perfect,  and  forms  a  very  interest- 
ing and  elegant  object.     The  walls  within  the  portico,  are 


TEMPLE  OP  VESTA.  291 

all  of  white  marble,  much  of  which  still  remains.  Is  it 
not  this  Temple  to  which  Horace  alludes,  in  the  following 
verse  of  one  of  his  finest  odes? 

"  Vidimus  flavum  Tiberim,  retortis 
Littore  Etrusco  violenter  undis, 
Ire  dejectum  monumenta  Regis, 
Templaque  Vesta." 

Near  this  elegant  little  fane  rolls  the  Tiber  —  the  muddy 
and  still  the  "  Yellow  Tiber"  of  classic  days.  It  passes 
on  with  the  game  solemn  and  majestic  flow,  silently  bath- 
ing the  ruins  of  those  edifices  which  were  the  scenes  of  so 
many  great  actions. 

In  these  wanderings  through  Roman  ruins,  we  are  fully 
aware  that  many  have  been  necessarily  passed  by  without 
notice.  To  describe  fully  and  accurately  all  the  memorials 
that  are  left  in  Rome,  of  these  ancient  rulers  of  the  world, 
would  alone  fill  volumes.  Nor  are  those  that  have  been 
disinterred,  which  one  stumbles  upon  in  every  direction  in 
the  streets  of  modern  Rome,  and  upon  the  elevations, 
where  the  proud  city  once  reared  herself,  all  that  remain 
to  tell  of  former  greatness.     In  many  places 

"  Pregnant  with  form,  the  turf  unheeded  lies." 

And  beneath  the  soil  are  architectural  and  artistic  trea- 
sures that  will  yet  challenge  the  admiration  of  future 
generations* 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  MARBLE  TREASURES  OF  THE  VATICAN. 

St.  Peter's  and  the  Vatican  —  Dimensions  of  the  Vatican  —  Chris- 
tian Epitaphs  —  Museo  Chiarimonte  —  II  Braccio  Nuovo  —  Museo 
Pio  Clementino — Ancient  Sarcophagus — The  ApoDo — The 
Laocoon  —  Hall  of  Animals  —  Hall  of  Busts —  Hall  of  the  Muses 
—  Hall  of  the  Greek  Cross  —  Collection  of  Antiquities  in  Rome. 

No  tourist  can  visit  St.  Peter's  or  the  Vatican,  and  be 
surprised  at  the  revelations  made  by  history  of  that  "vault- 
ing ambition,"  that  aspiring  desire  for  empire;  which 
nothing  but  universal  power  could  satisfy,  and  which  more 
or  less  forms  the  principal  characteristic  of  the  Roman 
Pontiffs.  Walk  along  that  vast  aisle  of  St.  Peter's — 
stand  within  the  shadow  of  its  heaven-scaling  dome — tra- 
verse the  vast  corridors  of  the  Vatican,  and  look  out  upon 
the  living  and  dead  majesty  of  Rome,  from  the  lofty  win- 
dows :  and  then  wonder  if  you  can,  that  its  possessors 
within  sight  of  the  locality  of  the  palace  of  the  Caesars, 
should  suppose  they  might  also  wield  their  power.  But 
now  even  the  pontifical  glory  hath  departed. 

"  'Tis  Rome,  but  living  Rome  no  more." 

How  fallen  is  that  ecclesiastical  sovereignty,  which 
in  the  days  of  Hildebrand  kept  shivering  royalty  for  four 
days  a  suppliant  at  its  gate,  and  placed  its  proud  foot,  glit- 
tering with  the  jewelled  cross,  upon  the  necks  of  prostrate 
Emperors  and  Kings.  That  throne  once  so  powerful,  is 
now  upheld  by  foreign  bayonets,  and  trembles  at  the  nod 
of  the  descendant  of  an  obscure  Corsican  advocate,  who 
has  usurped  the  throne  of  Clovis  and  Charlemagne.  But 
fallen  as  is  the  Papal  power,  it  still  has  its  strong-holds, 


THE   VATICAN.  293 

in  St.  Peter's  and  the  Vatican :  and  there  was  force  and 
pertinency  in  the  remark  of  our  republican  servant  Baptiste, 
when  he  said,  ^^  if  we  are  ever  to  have  liberty  in  Italy,  wo 
must  bury  the  Pope  beneath  the  ruins  of  the  Vatican  and 
St.  Peter's."  There  is  a  magic  in  their  very  names,  a 
power  in  their  majesty,  which  still  give  strength  and 
endurance  to  the  Papacy. 

It  has  been  truly  and  finely  said,  "  that  Saint  Peter's  is 
the  grandest  temple  that  man  ever  raised  to  his  God — 
while  the  Vatican  is  the  noblest  he  ever  raised  to  himself  j" 
and  it  is  so.  Whatever  judgments  we  may  be  disposed 
to  pass  upon  the  Popes  in  their  spiritual  capacity,  no 
tourist,  who  saunters  through  the  countless  chambers  of 
the  Vatican,  where  buried  art  is  restored  to  life  and  light 
again  -,  but  will  freely  admit  their  claim  as  temporal  sove- 
reigns to  the  gratitude  of  the  scholar  and  the  artist. 

The  Museum  of  the  Vatican,  is  next  to  the  Ruins,  the 
most  irresistible  attraction  of  modern  Rome — a  grand  and 
glorious  Treasure  House  of  Art,  where  one  might  range 
for  years,  and  find  attractions,  ever  varying,  ever  new. 
You  can  visit  these' magnificent  Halls  day  after  day,  and 
still  find  fresh  subjects  for  contemplation ;  new  objects  to 
gaze  at  and  admire. 

The  first  visit  is  bewildering.  Divinities  —  Emperors 
—  Philosophers  —  Orators  and  Statesmen  of  Imperial 
Rome,  seem  rushing  past  in  most  tantalizing  confusion ; 
and  it  is  not  until  after  repeated  visits,  and  much  study 
that  you  are  enabled  to  classify  and  arrange  them,  so  as 
to  derive  that  pleasure  in  their  contemplation,  which  always 
accompanies  familiarity  with  the  higher  works  of  art.  The 
dimensions  of  this  Palace,  and  the  number  of  rooms 
assigned  to  it,  border  on  the  marvellous.  The  whole 
z2 


294  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

pile  of  buildings,  together  with  the  gardens,  comprise 
a  circumference  of  some  six  miles. .  There  is  nothing 
architecturally  grand  about  its  externals.  On  the  contrary 
it  is  a  clumsy  mass,  and  interferes  greatly  by  its  provoking 
proximity,  with  the  appearance  of  St.  Peter's.  It  is  in 
reality  a  collection  of  apartments  built  by  several  Popes. 
The  date  of  its  first  commencement  is  not  known,  but  it 
was  somewhere  in  the  ninth  century.  The  number  of 
apartments  it  contains  is  over  four  thousand^  and  when 
you  take  into  consideration  their  immense  size,  the  mag- 
nificence they  display,  and  the  noble  works  of  art  by  which 
they  are  adorned,  surely  no  building  in  the  world  can 
compare  with  it. 

The  galleries  of  the  Vatican  consist  of  several  apart- 
ments, halls  and  temples,  some  ^ned  with  marble, 
others  paved  with  ancient  mosaics,  and  all  filled  with 
statues,  vases,  candelabra,  tombs  and  altars. 

The  size  and  proportion  of  these  noble  apartments  — 
their  rich  materials  and  furniture,  the  well-managed  light 
pouring  down  upon  them,  and  the  multiplicity  of  admira- 
ble articles  collected  and  deposited  in  them,  fill  the  mind 
with  astonishment  and  delight ;  forming  the  most  magnifi- 
cent and  grand  combination  one  can  conceive  of.  Never 
were  the  divinities  of  Greece  and  Rome,  honored  with 
nobler  temples— r never  did  they  stand  on  richer  pedestals 
never  were  more  glorious  domes  spread  above  their  heads, 
or  brighter  and  more  costly  pavements  extended  at  their 
feet.  Seated  in  such  shrines,  tbey  seem  to  look  down 
upon  the  crowd  of  votaries,  and  once  more  to  challenge 
the  admiration  of  mankind  —  while  kings  and  emperors," 
heroes  and  philosophers,  drawn  up  in  ranks  before  and 
around  them,  increase  their  state,  and  form  a  magnificent 
and  becoming  retinue. 


THE  VATICAN.  295 

Among  the  first  and  most  touching  objects  that  present 
themselves  to  the  visitor's  regard,  are  the  interesting  series 
of  Christian  monuments,  or  rather  funereal  inscriptions 
taken  from  the  Catacombs,  and  lining  an  entire  side 
of  the  great  corridor,  that  he  first  enters.  They  com- 
mence with  the  age  of  the  apostles,  and  are  generally  in 
Greek  —  most  of  them  are  simple  tributes  of  afi'ection  and 
sorrow,  frequently  reminding  one  by  some  expression,  or 
by  some  holy  and  endearing  symbol  of  our  faith,  that  they 
were  the  ofierings  of  those  who  mourned;  but  at  the  same 
time,  felt  that  their  affliction  was  "light,''  and  but  for  a 
moment — who  sorrowed,  but  with  a  sorrow  full  of  the 
hope  of  immortality.  Pa!>sing  through  this  great  corridor, 
lined  on  the  one  side  with  Pagan,  and  on  the  other  with 
these  Christian  inscriptions —  amounting  in  all  to  nearly 
four  thousand — you  arrive  at  a  Gallery,  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Museo  Chiarimonte.  On  entering  the  gate- 
way, your  attention  is  at  once  attracted  by  two  recumbent 
statues  on  your  left,  which  pass  in  the  printed  catalogues, 
under  the  names  of  ^''Autumn  and  Winter" — but  the  repre- 
sentation of  Autumn,  is  by  far  the  finest.  These  are  sup- 
posed to  be  of  no  later  origin  than  the  time  of  Hadrian. 
The  countenance  of  the  recumbent  figure,  representing 
Autumn,  is  beautifully  benignant.  The  figures  of  sportive 
children  —  the  one  the  Genius  of  the  Vintage,  presenting 
grapes  to  Autumn,  are  remarkable  for  their  truthfulness  to 
nature,  and  their  serene  beauty  of  expression.  One  cannot 
help  being  struck  with  the  tendency  of  the  Pagan  religion, 
to  connect  the  gayest  images  of  life  with  the  idea  of  death, 
in  their  Elysium,  their  funeral  games  and  tombs,  (so  con- 
trasted in  this  respect  with  the  faith  that  ever  looks  to 
brighter  worlds  beyond).     And  as  this  is  evidently  a  sar- 


296  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

cophagus,  tLe  recumbent  figure  with  the  sportive  children 
around,  is  certainly  a  fair  exemplification  of  it.  On  the 
front  of  this  sarcophagus,  may  be  observed  relievi,  very 
boldly  sculptured  of  father  and  mother,  with  their  son, 
who  wears  suspended  round  his  neck,  the  *' holla,"  an 
ornament  deemed  talismanic,  of  which  Horace,  Virgil, 
and  Martial  speak  —  this  ornament,  all  the  Roman  chil- 
dren wore,  until  they  had  attained  the  age  for  assuming 
the  toga.  A  short  distance  from  these  allegorical  figures, 
may  be  noticed  the  statue  of  Sleep  or  the  Genius  of  Death. 
This  is  the  figure  mentioned  by  Byron,  as  among  those 
in  the  Vatican  that  made  the  greatest  impression  upon 
him.  It  looks  too  refined  fof  the  genius  of  Paganism  — 
and  seems  more  akin  to  that  of  Christianity.  If  by  it  is 
intended  the  Angel  of  Death,  it  is  so  refined  and  affect-' 
ingly  graceful,  that  it  recommends  itself  to  the  hopeful 
feelings  of  Christianity.     We  might  justly  say  of  its  artist, 

"  He  feared  not  death,  whose  calm  and  gracious  thought, 
Of  the  last  hour,  has  settled  thus  in  thee." 

As  one  has  well  said,  whose  soul  was  alive  to  every  image 
of  the  beautiful,  "  It  seems  like  the  fading  away  of  an  ex- 
istence, in  a  calm,  painless  transit,  so  etherializing  to  the 
palpable  form,  that  as  we  gaze,  we  might  fancy  it  about 
to  vanish,  or  like  the  Narcissus  of  fable,  to  undergo  some 
metamorphose  still  more  beautiful.''  The  headless  and 
mutilated  figure,  which  stands  near  the  Genius  of  Sleep, 
has  been  by  many  supposed  to  be  a  figure  of  Diana, 
descending  from  her  chariot  to  visit  the  sleeping  Endy- 
mion.  Mutilated  as  it  is,  there  is  a  grandeur  about  its 
form  exceedingly  striking,  while  the  appearance  of  the 
drapery  as  if  agitated  by  rapid  motion,  and  evidently  be- 


THE  VATICAN.  297 

longing  to  a  figure  intended  to  be  represented  in  quick 
flight,  is  in  an  artistic  point  of  view,  a  most  surprising 
effort  of  the  chisel.  This  valuable  fragment  was  found  in 
the  Quirinal  Gardens — whither  it  had  been  brought  from 
Tivoli,  and  is  supposed  once  to  have  adorned  that  great 
centre  of  elegance  and  art,  the  Villa  of  Hadrian.  I  am 
inclined  to  believe,  that  the  opinion  of  Braun,  is  correct 
in  reference  to  this  fragment — and  that  it  once  represented 
a  daughter  of  Niobe,  in  rapid  flight  from  the  arrows  of  the 
avenging  and  angry  God.  There  is  certainly  a  striking 
similarity  in  this  torso,  with  the  attitude  and  position  of 
one  of  Niobe's  children  in  the  celebrated  group  at  Flo- 
rence. The  German  critic  very  truthfully  remarks — 
"  that  the  fearful  catastrophe  impending  over  this  daughter 
of  Niobe,  is  most  touchingly  and  beautifully  mirrored  in 
this  her  rapid  flight — the  stormy  wind  betokened  by  her 
fluttering  robe]  seems  to  combine  with  the  fate  about  to 
overtake  her.  The  spell  arresting  the  steps  of  persons 
doomed  to  death,  at  the  moment  when  escape  seems  still 
possible,  is  here  embodied  before  our  eyes.'^  Among  the 
rare  treasures  collected  in  this  gallery,  we  must  not  omit 
to  notice  the  bust  of  the  young  Augustus — so  exquisitely 
beautiful  in  the  dazzling  whiteness  and  polish  of  the  mar- 
ble, and  so  full  of  expression  and  power  in  the  contour  of 
the  brow.  But  aside  from  its  beauty  as  a  work  of  art,  it 
possesses  an  interest  from  the  fact,  that  we  have  here  pre- 
served the  youthful  features  of  the  favorite  nephew  of 
Julius  Caesar.  This  world-renowned  bust  was  discovered 
during  the  excavations  made  at  Ostia  in  the  beginning  of 
the  present  century,  and  no  doubt  once  graced  the  Temple 
erected  to  the  dignified  Augustus,  at  that  place  in  his  life- 
time.    Every  one  is  struck  at  first  sight,  with  the  resem- 


298  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

blance  which  this  bust  bears  to  that  of  Napoleon  in  his 
more  advanced  years.  There  is  a  maturity  of  expression  in 
the  broad  calm  brow,  which  scarcely  harmonizes  with  the 
youthful  appearance  of  the  future  Emperor,  But  Augus- 
tus, it  must  be  remembered,  ripened  prematurely  into 
manhood,  beneath  the  cares  and  responsibilities  of  state, 
that  were  thrust  upon  him,  by  his  celebrated  uncle,  who 
early  initiated  him  into  his  views  of  life  and  universal 
dominion. 

The  colossal  statue  of  Tiberius,  is  among  the  most  strik- 
ing figures  in  this  hall.  It  is  in  a  sitting  posture,  and 
was  discovered  at  Veil  in  1811.  The  figure  is  majestic, 
and  conveys  to  the  mind  a  very  forcible  conception  of  the 
dignity  and  awe-inspiring  presence  of  Home's  world  sub- 
duing Emperors.  A  civic  crown  adorns  his  head  —  and 
one  hand  is  laid  upon  "the  sword  at  his  side,  while  the 
other  holds  the  sceptre  of  universal  dominion.  There  is 
a  sternness  about  the  lowering  brow,  and  an  expression 
around  the  compressed  lips,  that  shadow  forth  all  the  evil 
inclinations,  which  made  their  home  in  the  heart  of  this 
monster.  The  citizens  of  Rome,  suffering  and  smarting 
from  the  effects  of  the  cruel  exactions  of  the  imperial 
tyrant,  immediately  after  tleath  had  removed  his  dreaded 
presence  from  their  sight,  commenced  hurling  his  statues 
from  their  pedestals  in  the  city,  and  appear  to  have  de- 
stroyed them  utterly.  I  do  not  remember  in  all  Italy,  to 
have  seen  a  single  statue  of  this  Emperor,  found  amid  the 
ruins  of  ancient  Rome  :  all  of  them  appear  to  have  come 
from  the  provincial  towns,  where  they  had  not  suffered  so 
directly  from  his  cruel  mandates.  Near  this  statue  is  a 
colossal  head  of  the  .imperial  monster,  found  at  the 
same  place — and  perhaps  in  its  expression,  seems  to  want 


THE  VATICAN.  299 

the  truthfulness  of  the  other  —  in  conferring  a  character 
of  intellect  and  clemency  upon  the  face,  which  the  original 
never  possessed. 

There  are  very  few  statues  in  this  hall  surpassing  that 
of  Clio,  the  Muse  of  History,  in  their  perfect  adaptation 
to  their  subject.  She  stands  there  in  mute  majesty, 
crowned  with  laurel,  while  beside  her  rests  a  casket  for 
books  and  a  scroll.  Nothing  could  be  more  calmly  gracious 
than  her  expression :  more  majestic,  and  yet  delicate  than 
the  form.  A  lofty  idea  of  the  attributes  of  History,  is  con- 
veyed by  this  serenely  beautiful  work  of  the  ancient  chisel. 
History  is  here  represented  as  a  benignant,  dispassionate 
guardian  of  Truth,  and  a  rewarder  of  Virtue. 

In  the  statue  of  the  Venus  Gabina,  so  called,  because 
found  at  the  ancient  city  of  Gabii,  we  have  an  idea  of  this 
goddess,  far  more  elevated  than  is  displayed  in  most  of  her 
statues.  In  this  graceful  figure  the  feeKng  seems  to  rise 
infinitely  above  the  mythology  of  antiquity.  It  is  not 
merely  the  type  of  physical  beauty  which  is  presented,  but 
the  personification  of  a  principle,  asserting  its  sway  over 
the  soul  by  a  mysterious,  yet  benificent  spell.  She  seems 
here, 

"  In  all  her  sovereignty  of  charms  arrayed," 
to  unite  the  benign  genius,  with  the  attributes  of  an  enchan- 
tress queen — and  Horace's 

"  O  Venus  Regina  Cnidi  Paphique," 

would  be  a  fit  apostrophe  to  such  a  goddess. 

Near  this  statue,  may  be  noticed  a  head  of  Neptune  of 
colossal  proportions.  This  head  of  the  gloomy  ruler  of 
the  waves,  was  discovered  at  Ostia.  Representations  of 
Neptune  in  the  collections,  are  as  rare  as  those  of  the  King 


300  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

of  gods  and  men  are  abundant.  The  hair  falls  somewhat 
wildly  on  each  side  of  the  forehead,  intending  to  exhibit 
the  effect  of  the  winds  that  play  over  the  surface  of  old 
ocean.  The  beard  is  full  and  strong,  and  the  lips  partly 
open,  giving  a  peculiar  appearance  to  the  face,  which  is 
not  without  an  expression  of  that  serenity  and  dignity  so 
noticeable  in  all  the  busts  of  Jupiter. 

The  figure  of  Venus  rising  from  the  sea,  nearly  opposite 
the  head  of  Neptune,  is- certainly  a  most  lovely  figure;  the 
character  that  of  innocence,  and  girlhood.  Venus  is  here 
represented  leaving  the  bath,  with  the  vase  of  perfumes  in 
one  hand  for  anointing  the  hair,  and  perhaps  the  limbs 
also,  as  was  the  custom  after  bathing.  This  statue  appears 
to  be  formed  of  three  separate  antique  fragments,  the 
arms  and  feet  being  restored  by  a  modern  hand :  it  is  sup- 
posed to-be  a  copy  frCm  a  Greek  original,  by  a  Roman 
sculptor. 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  seven 
hundred  and  fifty  distinct  subjects  which  adorn  the  sides 
of  this  magnificent  hall.  We*have  only  selected  from  the 
collection  such  as  commended  themselves  forcibly  to  our 
mind,  although  there  are  numerous  others,  no  doubt  as 
much  deserving  of  notice.  A  hasty  glance  over  the  frag- 
ments of  single  statues  and  groups,  scattered  along  this 
hall,  will  serve  to  show  how  great  a  loss  archaeology  has 
sustained — although,  had  the  monuments  to  which  these 
belong  come  down  to  us,  as  has  been  well  observed  "  the 
Vatican,  would  have  scarce  sufficed  to  afford  them  suitable 
accommodation. 

Immediately  after  passing  the  screen  work,  to  enter  the 
gallery  we  have  just  been  exploring,  a  portal  to  the 
left  is  reached,  which  is  the  entrance  to  the  gallery  styled 


THE  VATI0A5f.  301 

''  II  Braccio  Nuovo,"  formed  likewise  under  the  munifi- 
cence of  Pius  VII.  This  hall  is  very  magnificent  in  its 
proportions,  and  in  shape  is  somewhat  in  the  form  of  a 
Greek  cross.  The  first  thing  that  attracts  attention  on 
entering  the  hall  is  the  Caryatid  on  the  right,  believed 
to  be  one  of  the  six  that  sustained  the  portico  of  the  tem- 
ple of  Pandrosia,  at  Athens.  The  story  of  the  city  of 
Caria,  whose  male  inhabitants  (for  their  alliance  with  the 
Persians)  were  put  to  the  sword,  and  the  females  made 
slaves,  and  condemned  to  carry  burdens,  by  the  Athenians, 
is  well  known,  as  being  perpetuated  in  these  peculiar  sta- 
tues, which  served  for  architectural  purposes.  There  is 
nothing  strikingly  graceful  in  this  architectural  idiosyncrasy 
of  the  Grecian  artist;  neither  in  form  nor  expression,  and 
it  is  only  curious  as  a  perpetuation  of  an  historical  fact. 

Near  it  is  the  beautiful  group  representing  Siienus,  with 
the  infant  Bacchus  in  his  arms.  This  group  arrests  your 
attention  at  once  upon  your  entrance.  The  artist  does  not 
here  represent  Siienus  as  the  grotesque  and  jovial  demi- 
god; but  as  the  philosopher,  who  accompanied  Bacchus  on 
his  expedition  to  India,  to  assist  him  with  the  counsels  of 
wisdom.  Apart  from  all  mythical  relations,  and  simply 
keeping  in  view  the  manner  in  which  infancy  and  age  are 
here  brought  into  contact,  this  group  certainly  exhibits  a 
touching  scene.  The  slender  figure  of  the  aged  Siienus 
rests  with  firmly  planted  feet,  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
and  gazes  with  an  expression  of  deep  but  satisfied  serious- 
ness on  the  beautiful  infant  cradled  in  his  arms.  As  a 
classical  tourist  has  very  well  remarked,  "It  is  not  the  vain 
recollections  of  his  own  never  returning  youth,  which  are 
portrayed  in  the  figure  of  this  Siienus ;  but  that  pure  joy, 
observed  in  those  who,  amid  the  tumults  of  earth,  have 
learned  to  purify   all  selfish  feelings^  and  to  find  true 

AA 


302  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

satisfaction  in  the  welfare  of  others."  The  ancients  nnder 
the  mythological  allusion  to  Silenus,  couched  a  far  deeper 
meaning  than  is  generally  attached  to  this  inferior  divinity. 
Who  that  is  familiar  with  the  classics,  can  forget  that 
beautiful  record  in  the  sixth  Eclogue  of  Virgil,  when  he 
is  surprised  by  the  Shepherds,  who  he  had  often  flattered 
with  the  hope  of  hearing  his  song;  and  being  bound  by 
them,"  playfully  yields,  uttering  a  song,  or  rather  a  Tatici- 
nation,  in  which  the  profound  mysteries  of  the  origin  of 
things,  and  a  complete  system  of  cosmogony  are  revealed, 
whilst  brutes,  and  even  inanimate  nature  listen  fascinated 
to  the  sound.  This  prophetic  power  belonged  to  Silenus, 
and  it  is  in  his  character  of  prophet  and  seer,  that  he  is  so 
often  represented  by  the  ancients  as  the  tutor  of  Bacchus. 
In  his  prophetic  character  his  eye  penetrates  the  future, 
and  recognizes  in  the  youth  before  him,  "the  coming  man" 
who  is  to  bring  light  and  knowledge,  scattering  blessings 
over  the  earth.  It  has  always  appeared  to  me  that  in  this 
mythological  conception,  there  was  a  repetition  of  the 
prophetic  allusions  of  the  Old  Testament,  to  the  arrival 
of  the  new  dispensation,  which  was  to  bring  life  and  im- 
mortality to  light  through  the  gospel,  coming  with  "healing 
on  its  wings"  for  the  nations.  Did  not  the  Pagan  borrow 
from  the  Jew  ? 

Close  to  Silenus  and  Bacchus  is  the  graceful  statue 
of  Antinous  with  the  attributes  of  Vertumnus.  It  is  the 
figure  of  a  man,  made  god-like  by  the  divine  skill  of  the 
sculptor.  Antinous  was  the  friend  and  favorite  of  the 
princely  Emperor  Hadrian.  This  Emperor,  while  in  Egypt, 
in  a  moment  of  despondency,  conceived  that  his  own  life 
must  be  forfeited,  unless  some  other  life  was  sacrificed  for 
bis  own :  and  the  faithful  Antinous  drowned  himself  in 
the  Nile,  to  save  his  friend  and  master.    The  grateful 


THE  VATICAN.  303 

Emperor  placed  him  among  the  gods,  erected  temples  to 
his  worship,  and  employed  all  the  sculptor's  skill  to  deli- 
neate him  in  the  perfection  of  beauty  and  of  youth. 
There  are  many  of  these  statues  still  to  be  found  in  Rome, 
but  this,  and  the  colossal  one  in  the  Lateran  Museum  are 
the  finest.  There  is  a  sweet  serenity  about  the  expression 
of  both,  that  at  once  attracts  and  fascinates  the  spectator, 
while  the  graceful  and  fine  proportions  of  the  figure  em- 
body all  the  elements  of  manly  beauty. 

Near  the  Antinous,  is  according  to  my  idea  one  of  the 
finest  works  of  ancient  Art  in  all  the  vast  collections  in 
Rome.  Visconti  regards  this  statue  as  essentially  Greek, 
though  belonging  to  an  epoch  which  preceded  the  decline. 
The  head,  though  exceedingly  beautiful,  is  a  restoration. 
This  statue  passes  in  the  catalogues  as  that  of  Pudicitia, 
or  Modesty.  By  some,  it  has  been  conceived  to  be  a  rep- 
resentation of  the  Tragic  Muse ;  by  others,  an  abstract  of 
all  the  virtuous  characteristics  of  a  Roman  matron :  but 
call  it  by  what  name  they  will,  it  must  ever  remain  as  one 
of  the  finest  specimens  of  the  skill  of  the  Grecian  chisel 
that  has  come  down  to  us.  It  embodies  the  perfection  of 
beauty  and  grace,  more  than  any  other  statue  in  the  Halls 
of  ancient  Art  at  Rome.  And  with  all  that  beauty  and 
grace  so  captivating,  is  combined  a  sublime  dignity  which 
impresses  you  from  the  first  with  a  sort  of  awe.  And  then 
too  the  wonderful  artistic  execution  of  the  minor  details— 
the  delicate  and  transparent  folds  of  the  gracefully  ma- 
naged drapery  —  the  outline  of  the  beautifully  rounded 
arm  beneath  —  the  perfect  poise  of  the  figure  :  —  all 
unite  to  prove  that  it  was  the  creation  of  the  sculptor's 
chisel,  when  art  wae  achieving  its  loftiest  triumphs  in 
Greece.      This  statue  is  of  great  age,  and  numbers  its 


304  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

years  by  thousands :  but  still  it  is  in  a  wondrous  state  of 
preservation — discolored  it  is  true  by  the  stains  of  Time, 
but  nothing  injured  in  its  outline.  Although  the  head  is 
comparatively  modern  —  yet  deprived  of  this  and  standing 
there  as  a  headless  trunk,  like  the  Torso  of  Hercules,  or 
the  flying  Niobe^  to  which  allusion  has  above  been  made, 
it  would  still  be  one  of  the  noblest  figures  in  the  collec- 
tion. I  can  never  forget  the  wonderful  impression  made 
by  this  statue  upon  the  entire  party  who  visited  the  halls 
of  the  Vatican  with  me,  by  torch  light.  No  sooner  had 
the  full  blaze  of  the  torches  flashed  upon  the  face,  than  it 
was  lit  up  by  an  expression  so  perfectly  life-like,  that  it 
extorted  an  exclamation  of  delighted  surprise  from  more 
than  one  of  our  party.  The  dark  tints,  which  in  the  garish 
light  of  day  discolored  the  drapery,  vanished,  and  the 
marble  shone  forth  again  with  all  that  pure  whiteness 
which  belonged  to  it,  when  the  last  stroke  of  the  sculptor's 
chisel,  left  it 

"  A  thing  of  beauty,  and  a  joy  forever." 

Wonderful  too,  was  the  eff'ect  of  this  magical  light,  as  it 
fell  flickeringly  upon  the  graceful  folds  of  the  drapery.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  wind  had  stirred  it,  or  as  though  it  rose 
and  fell  beneath  the  soft  breathings  of  the  life-like  figure 
before  us.  To  use  the  language  of  an  artist,  applied  to 
another  statue,  *Mooking  at  the  regal  aspect,  the  proudly 
beautiful  lip,  the  self-possession  and  graceful  majesty  of 
this  figure,  we  can  hardly  suppose  that  the  Art  capable  of 
producing  this,  could  have  flourished  in  a  state  of  society* 
where  the  position  of  woman,  was  other  than  surrounded 
with  dignity  and  respect :  or  where  high  moral  influences 
were  not  apprehended  and  recognized  iu  her.'' 


THE  VATICAN.  305 

Passing  over  to  the  other  side,  and  nearly  at  the  foot  of 
the  recumbent  and  majestic  figure  of  the  colossal  River 
God,  we  have  another  original  from  the  Greek  chisel.  It 
is  the  statue  of  Diana,  the  chaste  goddess  of  the  night, 
represented  at  the  moment  when  on  the  heights  of  Latmos, 
she  descries  the  sleeping  Endymion.  It  is  certainly  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  representations  of  this  divinity.  A 
perfect  story  in  marble  of  aiFection  watching  over  the 
sleep  of  the  loved  object,  "all  unconscious  of  the  joy  'tis 
giving."  In  the  fillet  confining  the  hair,  is  discernible 
the  holes  in  which  the  crescent  once  rested,  indicating 
that  she  is  represented  here  as  the  goddess  of  the  moon, 
and  not  in  her  character  the  divine  huntress.  This  statue 
was  discovered  a  few  miles  from  the  Porta  Cavalleggiera, 
among  some  ruins,  either  those  of  a  villa  or  a  temple  to 
the  goddess. 

In  the  majestic  statue  of  the  Minerva  Medica,  found 
in  the  penetralia  of  the  ruin  I  have  described  in  the  last 
chapter,  we  have  a  personation  of  this  goddess,  who  com- 
bines so  many  virtues  in  her  mythological  character.  Here 
we  have  the  gracious  aspect  of  the  goddess  in  ''  the  Odys- 
sey," and  the  ''Furies"  of  Eschylus.  The  breastplate 
formed  of  scales,  is  thrown  with  graceful  negligence  over 
the  bosom,  and  she  holds  the  ample  mantle  drawn  over  her 
left  shoulder,  lightly  grasped  in  the  left  hand.  At  her 
feet  is  a  serpent,  the  emblem  of  Esculapius,  and  which 
has  given  the  name  to  the  figure.  This,  like  some  of  the 
statues  of  Jove,  Hercules  and  Apollo,  to  be  found  in  the 
Vatican,  embodies  to  the  full  all  the  mythological  charac- 
teristics. It  is  a  figure  which  men  might  almost  be 
excused,   for    falling  down    before   it   to    worship;    and 

when  standing   in  majestic  silence  in  its  ancient  fane, 
Aa2 


306'  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

might  well  fill  devout  worshippers  with  awe.  It  would  be 
wholly  out  of  my  power,  even  if  I  wished  it,  to  name,  far 
less  to  describe,  the  many  objects  of  interest  contained  in 
this^  or  the  other  immense  Statuary  Halls  of  the  Vatican. 
You  may  wander  from  one  long  gallery  to  another,  make 
the  round  of  the  circular  and  octagonal  apartments  —  visit 
the  small  chambers  that  surround  the  court  of  the  Foun- 
tain—  ascend  the  staircase  terminated  by  the  columns  of 
African  marble  —  stand  among  the  pillars  of  alabaster  in 
the  court  of  the  Faun  —  wander  through  the  Etruscan 
collection,  and  days  will  not  suffice  to  accomplish  even 
this  physical  labor,  nor  weeks  to  catalogue  the  extent  of 
the  noble  collection  :  and  yet  this  contains  but  a  very 
amall  fragmentary  portion  of  the  Treasures  of  Art  that 
belonged  to  the  Imperial  City.  The  object  of  this  chap- 
ter, is  simply  to  notice  as  we  pass,  some  of  the  most  re- 
markable of  the  marble  treasures  of  this  wonderful  Muse- 
um. Nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  and  opposite  to 
one  of  the  recesses,  reclines  a  colossal  statue  of  the  Nile 
as  a  River  God,  leaning  on  a  sphinx.  In  different  posi- 
tions upon  the  figure,  are  represented  sixteen  children, 
denoting  the  sixteen  cubits  increase  of  the  river,  and  every 
one  of  these  children  is  in  such  manner  figured,  that  it  ad- 
mirably describes  the  effect,  which  at  that  rise  and  increase 
it  wrought  on  the  land  of  Egypt,  As  for  example,  the 
sixteenth  child  is  placed  upon  a  shoulder  of  the  river, 
with  a  basket  of  flowers  and  fruits  upon  its  head,  signify- 
ing that  the  increase  of  the  river  to  the  sixteenth  cubit, 
enriches  the  earth  with  fruit,  and  brings  gladness  to  it : 
but  all  of  the  children  have  a  like  symbolical  meaning. 
There  is  an  appearance  of  repose  about  this  figure  truly 
marvellous,  and  a  majesty  in  the  features,  that  should 
alone  belong  to  divinity. 


THE   VATICAN.  807 

We  must  not  leave  this  superb  hall  without  noticing 
the  exquisite  pavement  of  ancient  mosaics,  by  which 
it  is  adorned.  They  were  brought  from  the  ruins  of  a 
villa  near  Tormarancio,  and  are  remarkable  specimens  of 
the  skill  of  the  ancients  in  this  exquisite  work.  The 
figures  too,  are  so  arranged,  that,  from  whatever  point  of 
view,  the  eye  falls  upon  this  carpet  in  stone,  part  of  the 
figures  appear  in  an  upright  position.  The  whole  story  of 
the  shipwreck  of  Ulysses,  is  here  told  with  all  the  faith- 
fulness of  a  painting,  and  in  colors  which  will  never  fade. 

In  the  Museo  Pio  Clementine  is  to  be  found  the  cele- 
brated Belvidere  Torso,  a  mutilated  trunk  without  arms^ 
and  but  the  mere  fragment  of  thighs,  and  yet  so  won- 
derful in  its  delineations  that  Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael 
educated  and  developed  their  genius  by  its  study.  Mengs 
considered  this  Torso  to  unite  the  beauties  of  all  the  other 
antique  statues,  to  possess  a  variety  so  perfect,  that  it  was 
truly  divine.  It  dates  back  beyond  the  age  of  Alexander 
the  Great,  and  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  work  of  Apol- 
lonius,  an  Athenian.  It  requires  an  artistic  taste  educated 
up  to  a  very  high  point,  to  appreciate  and  understand  the 
encomiums  lavished  upon  this  huge  lump  of  marble,  by 
enraptured  artists.  But  near  to  it  may  be  noticed  a  sar- 
cophagus, whose  history  awakens  an  interest  in  the  breast, 
which  has  been  steeled  to  all  impressions  from  the  won- 
drous Torso.  I  allude  to  that  stone  cofl&n  which  once  held 
the  body,  not  the  ashes,  (for  this  family  never  burned  their 
dead),  of  Lucius  Cornelius  Scipio  Barbatus,  the  ancestor 
of  the  great  Scipio  Africanus.  Upon  its  sides  you  can 
read,  still  distinct,  the  old  Latin  inscription,  proclaiming  the 
merits  of  this  great  forefather  of  the  Scipios,  in  genuine 
patriarchal  fashion, 


308  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

"  Cornelius  Lucius  Scipio  the 
Bearded,  the  lawful  son  of  his 
Father  Gneius,  a  valiant  man 
And  wise,  whose  person  nearly 
Resembled  his  virtue. 
Consul,  Censor,  iEdile  so  he  was  among  you. 
Taurasia,  Cisauna  in  Samnium  has  he  taken 
All  Lucania  has  he  subjected. 
And  hostages  has  he  carried  away." 

This  sarcophagus  was  found  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
last  century  in  the  Vigna  Sassi,  in  the  tomb  of  the  Scipios. 
It  dates  back  to  the  fifth  century  after  the  foundation  of 
the  city.  The  carvings  on  the  lid  and  base  are  certainly 
remarkably  fine,  and  indicate  considerable  advance  in  art. 

In  the  Hall  of  the  Meleagcr  we  have  the  statue  of  the 
hero  that  confers  upon  it  the  name.  He  is  represented  as 
reposing  on  a  lance,  after  having  slain  the  Caledonian  boar. 
The  left  hand  which  the  lance  sustained  has  perished,  and 
it  is  said  that  even  Michael  Angelo  shrunk  from  restoring 
it.  Succeeding  generations  it  appears  have  manifested  the 
same  timidity,  as  it  remains  still  mutilated.  The  sculp- 
tor has  indulged  in  a  peculiarity  in  this  statue  for  the 
purpose  of  representing  the  fairness  of  complexion,  which 
belonged  to  Meleager — Homer  calling  him  XanthoSj  yel- 
low or  fair.  In  the  eyebrows,  there  is  an  absence  of  the 
indenture  commonly  used  to  supply  the  effect  of  the  dark 
color^  which  together  with  the  softness  of  the  contour, 
indicates  this  fairness  of  complexion.  The  statue  was 
found  on  the  Janiculum,  outside  the  Porta  Portese.  Just 
behind  the  Meleager  is  a  bust  of  Plato,  with  a  profile 
remarkably  beautiful,  reminding  one  of  the  type  adopted 
by  the  ancient  painters  for  that  of  the  Redeemer. 

In  a  hall  in  close  vicinity  to  that  of  the  Meleager,  is 


THE   VATICAN.  309 

the  Antinous,  now  changed  in  the  catalogue  to  a  Mercury. 
But  it  possesses  not  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  god. 
The  wings,  the  caducous,  and  every  other  emblem  of  Mer- 
cury are  wanting.  The  countenance  also  resembles  that 
which  is  usually  given  to  Antinous.  It  may  be  that  the 
sculptor  did  not  intend  to  represent  the  character  of  the 
cajoling  and  thoroughly  undigni^ed  Mercury,  as  he  is 
presented  at  least  by  one  aspect  of  his  fabulous  adventures : 
but  only  as  the  gracious  messenger  of  the  gods,  the  Genius 
of  Eloquence,  the  inventor  of  the  seven  chorded  lyre,  the 
conductor  of  disembodied  spirits.  You  next  enter  an  octa- 
gonal court,  surrounded  by  a  portico  decorated  with  superb 
marble  columns,  and  enriched  with  some  of  the  most 
splendid  monuments  of  ancient  magnificence: — statues  and 
relievos,  baths  formed  of  marble  and  granite,  as  bright  as 
though  they  had  just  left  the  carver's  hands;  sarcophagi 
embellished  with  exquisite  sculpture;  vases  and  votive 
altars.  But  it  is  in  the  recesses  of  this  grand  court,  that 
the  greatest  treasures  of  the  Vatican  are  contained,  the 
Laocoon  and  the  Apollo  Belvidere.  The  first  impressions 
produced  by  gazing  on  the  wonderful  group  of  the  Laocoon 
are  certainly  those  of. disappointment.  There  seems  to  be 
a  want  of  harmony  in  the  figures ;  and  that  defect  pre- 
sents itself  at  all  times.  The  bodies  of  the  father  and  his 
sons  are  relatively  out  of  proportion :  for  if  the  sons  are 
viewed  separately,  they  by  no  means  present  the  appear- 
ance of  boys,  but  of  men ;  whereas,  the  father  is  so  much 
larger,  that  either  he  must  be  a  giant,  or  his  sons  dwarfs. 
But  aside  from  this  defect,  it  is  certainly  the  most  expres- 
sive group  of  statuary  in  the  Vatican.  Virgil  describes 
Laocoon  as  seized  by  the  serpent  whilst  attempting  to  save 
his  children,  the  first  victims.  The  lines  of  the  Eneid, 
"  Ille  simul  manibus  tendit  divellere  nodos 
Clamores  simul  horrendos  ad  sidera  toUitj" 


310  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

are  in  accordance  with  the  plastic  treatment  of  the  story ; 
otherwise,  the  sculptor  has  not  borrowed  much  from  the 
poet.  Far  more  than  physical  pain  is  conveyed  in  this 
wonderful  group — a  lofty  defiance  of  the  suffering,  which 
if  it  has  overpowered  the  body,  has  not  subdued  the  soul. 
The  wrath  of  Minerva,  to  which  Laocoon  fell  a  victim, 
was  excited,  by  an  act  in  itself  patriotic  and  heroic,  the 
hurling  of  the  lance  to  discover  the  deception  of  the 
wooden  horse  for  the  preservation  of  Troy.  He  becomes 
thus  dying,  a  martyr  to  his  country,-  and  the  anticipation  of 
her  ruin  is  the  most  intense  of  sorrows.  This  is  certainly 
expressed  in  the  countenance,  and  with  the  distorted  face, 
the  starting  sinews  and  distended  limbs,  entwined  in  the 
inextricable  folds  of  the  serpents,  offer  a  most  appalling 
picture  of  human  suffering. 

Not  far  from  the  cabinet  of  the  Laocoon,  in  admirable 
preservation  stands  the  Apollo  Belvidere.  Here  in  truth^ 
W3  have  the  noblest  and  the  loftiest  of  the  sons  of  Zeus. 
Apollo,  in  the  higher  conception  of  the  religion  of  the 
ancients,  was  the  deification  of  the  beautiful,  the  heroic, 
the  poetic  and  the  benign.  The  fable  of  the  girl  who  pined 
for  love  toward  Apollo,  and  was  metamorphosed  into  the 
sun-flower,  which  ever  turns  to  the  God  of  Day,  seems 
intelligible  when  you  look  at  this  incomparable  statue : 

"—the  delicate  form,  a  dream  of  love 
Shaped  by  some  solitary  nymph,  whose  breast 
Longed  for  a  deathless  lover  from  above. 
And  maddened  in  that  vision." 

'  A  variety  of  opinions  have  been  expressed  as  to  the  cha- 
racter in  which  the  sculptor  intended  to  represent  Apollo. 
Spence  conceived  him  to  be  a  hunter :  other  opinions  are, 
that  he  has  just  defeated  the  giant  Tityvsj  that  ho  has 
expended  all  his  arrows  against  the  Achians;  that  he  ha« 


THE  VATICAN.  311 

been  slaying  the  fair  Niobo  and  her  children,  or  the 
faithless  Coronis.  The  prevailing  opinion  however  is,  that 
he  has  just  slain  the  serpent  Python.  He  certainly  appears 
from  the  attitude,  and  from  the  fragment  of  a  bow  in  his 
left  hand,  to  have  just  discharged  an  arrow.  A  quiver  is 
on  his  back,  and  his  feet  are  exactly  in  the  attitude  of  a 
person  who  has  drawn  his  bow,  and  is  watching  the  pro- 
gress of  his  arrow.  This  unique  statue  was  discovered 
near  Porto  D'Anzio,  where  it  no  doubt  constituted  one  of 
the  ornaments  of  the  imperial  villas  of  ancient  Antium. 
Out  of  this  court  where  the  Apollo  stands,  you  pass  into  a 
larger  apartment  filled  with  various  animals  of  Greek  and 
Roman  sculpture.  The  floor  is  composed  of  curious  and 
handsome  mosaics,  mostly  found  at  Palestrina,  the  ancient 
Preneste. 

In  the  Hall  of  the  Busts,  which  is  the  most  historically, 
if  not  the  most  artistically  interesting  section  of  the  Mu- 
seum, we  have  a  collection  of  original  busts  of  statesmen, 
heroes  and  philosophers  of  antiquity,  mingled  with  the 
busts  of  the  principal  gods  of  the  heathen  mythology. 
This  hall  is  ornamented  with  columns  inlaid  with  giallo 
anticOj  with  corresponding  pilasters  of  variegated  marble : 
while  the  floor  is  ornamented  with  rare  mosaics.  It  would 
be  in  vain  to  attempt  the  mention  of  each  particular  object 
of  interest  in  this  unique  collection.  The  mention  of  one 
or  two  will  suffice.  A  most  remarkable  bust  in  the  series 
is  that  representing  Augustus,  in  advanced  age.  A  wreath 
of  artificial  laurel,  worked  round  a  diadem,  encircles  the 
brow,  with  an  orbicular  gem  in  the  centre,  containing  the 
profile  of  Julius  Caesar.  This  circlet  is  supposed  to  be 
emblematic  of  the  sacerdotal  character  of  the  Emperor, 
the  effigy  on  these  gems  being  always  of  that  of  a  god  or 
a  deified  mortal.     Caesar  having  been  deified,  it  may  be 


312  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

that  Augustus  is  here  represented  as  one  of  the  priesthood 
of  the  divine  Julius.  There  is  a  full  length  sitting  statue 
of  Jupiter,  terminating  the  vista.  Great  dignity  and  ma- 
jesty are  here  expressed.  It  calls  to  your  mind  the  Jupiter 
invoked  by  Horace  as 

"  Gentis  humanae  Pater  atque  Gustos," 

more  calm  and  raised  above  the  shocks  of  passion  than  the 
Jupiter  of  Homer,  though  the  sire  of  deities  who  shakes 
his  ambrosial  curls,  till  all  Olympus  trembles  at  the  nod, 
in  the  Iliad,  might  be  pictured  to  the  mind  in  a  form  like 
this.  Grave,  austere  and  majestic,  this  statue  of  Jupiter 
looks  down  upon  the  thronging  crowds  of  the  Vatican^  as 
he  once  looked  down  from  his  shrine,  upon  the  worship- 
pers in  his  temple. 

The  Hall  of  the  Muses,  is  one  of  the  most  richly 
decorated,  and  tastefully  ornamented  of  any  in  the  Vati- 
can. The  pavements  are  inlaid  with  antique  mosaics,  the 
subjects  of  which  are  mostly  theatrical — the  figures  of 
actors  in  their  peculiar  costumes  and  masks ;  in  the  centre 
a  head  of  Medusa  surrounded  with  arabesques  of  beautiful 
design.  Here  we  have  in  marble,  exquisitely  sculptured, 
the  nine  daughters  of  Mnemosyne,  preceded  by  Apollo 
with  the  lute.  All  of  these  statues  are  ancient,  and  were 
discovered  in  the  villa  of  Cassius,  near  Rome.  Here  too 
are  original  busts  of  Demosthenes,  ^^schines,  Zeno  the 
Stoic,  of  Pericles  and  Periander.  In  the  Hall  of  the 
Greek  Cross  is  the  celebrated  statue  of  Venus  called  of 
Gnidos,  supposed  to  be  from  the  chisel  of  Praxiteles, 
which  is  mentioned  by  Pliny,  "as  illustrious  throughout 
the  world."  It  may  be  but  a  copy,  but  it  is  certainly  the 
finest  statue  of  the  goddess  in  Italy.  "The  Cytherian 
Zone/'  binding  all  things  with  beauty,  might  be  proudly 


THE  VATICAN. 


claimed  as  the  due  attribute  of  such  an  enchantress.  We 
are  too  apt  to  associate  coarseness  and  vulgarity  with  the 
attributes  of  Venus :  but  does  not  the  mythological  con- 
ception of  this  divinity  personify  the  principle  that  ani- 
mated nature  with  life,  infusing  the  soul  of  joy  and  beauty 
into  every  thing  ?  And  does  not  the  magnificent  exordium 
of  Lucretius  to  "  alma  Venus/'  before  whom  the  tempests 
are  laid,  the  clouds  disperse,  the  heaven  and  ocean  become 
radiant  with  smiles,  and  the  earth  strews  its  surface  with 
flowers — r comprise  her  more  lofty  and  benificent  aspects? 
At  all  events  in  this  .statue  the  sculptor  seems  to  have  been 
inspired  with  the  same  ideas  as  the  poet. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  nume- 
rous choice  things  of  art  that  crowd  hall  after  hall  of 
this  stupendous  Museum.  The  visitor  is  overwhelmed 
with  the  multiplicity  of  objects.  The  few  that  we  have 
named  must  suflBce.  The  multiplicity  and  variety  of  an- 
cient artistic  treasures  that  crowd  the  immense  halls  of  the 
Vatican,  Capitoline,  and  Lateran  Museums  bewilder  and 
stupefy  the  senses :  and  yet  these  immense  depositories 
contain  a  small  part  only  of  the  former  splendor  of  Rome. 
•Every  church  is  adorned  with  ancient  columns,  every 
palace  has  a  gallery  of  ancient  art :  even  foreign  countries 
owe  their  boasts  of  statuary  to  Rome ; — and  the  treasure 
is  still  not  exhausted ; 

".  Though  every  realm  and  state, 

With  Rome's  august  remains — heroes  and  gods- 
Deck  their  long  galleries  and  winding  groves;— 
Yet  miss  we  not  the  innnmerable  thefts  — 
For  still  profuse  of  glories  teems  the  waste." 


B  B 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WANDERINGS  AMONG  THE  CATACOMBS. 

Origin  of  the  Catacombs  —  Catacombs  of  St.Calixtus  —  Epitaphs  — 
Little  Chapels  —  Frescoes  —  Portrait  of  Christ  —  The  Burial 
Place  of  St  Paul. 

If  your  inspection  of  Rome  has  confined  itself  only  to 
her  monumental  and  artistic  treasures,  you  have  still  left 
a  most  interesting  portion  unexamined.  There  is  a  silent 
city  which  extends  its  ramifications  under  busy  life  above; 
having  its  history^  its  monuments  and  associations  fraught 
with  interest  the  most  profound.  I  allude  to  the  Catacombs. 

The  origin  of  these  sepulchral  chambers  has  been  keenly 
disputed.  The  excavations  in  which  they  began,  were 
most  certainly  made  for  the  purpose  of  digging  out  the 
volcanic  earth  used  by  the  ancient,  as  well  as  the  modern 
builders.  There  can  be  little  question  that  these  quarries 
and  caves  were  ancient,  long  before  the  cradle  of  the  Twins 
floated  among  the  reeds  of  the  Tiber,  or  the  udders  of  the 
she-wolf  gave  down  the  strengthening  milk  that  nourished 
the  Founder  of  the  Seven  Hilled  City.  The  cities  that 
once  crowded  the  Campagna  were  built  no-doubt  out  of  tlie 
materials  taken  from  these  quarries.  When  the  Romans 
obtained  a  foot-hold  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  and  began 
to  erect  Temples,  Forums  and  Thermae,  then  the  demand 
for  this  material  for  building  constantly  increased,  and  so 
it  continued  under  the  magnificent  reigns  of  the  Twelve 
Cajsars,  down  to  the  time  when  the  Romans  left  off"  quarry- 
ing and  turned  to  destroying  old  buildings  to  find  mate- 
rials for  new. 


THE  CATACOMBS.  315 

These  caves  or  excavations  seem  to  have  been  used  as 
early  as  the  first  century  of  our  era,  as  hiding  places, 
caves  of  refuge  by  the  Christians.  Pagan  superstition  had 
pointed  out  these  desolate  places,  these  dark  and  deep  ex- 
cavations as  the  spots  haunted  by  Canidia  and  her  weird 
sister  old  Sagana;  of  course  they  were  shunned  by  the 
superstitious  Romans  —  and  this  therefore  made  them  a 
most  secure  place  of  concealment  for  the  Christians.  The 
Christians  at  first  interred  in  them,  no  other  bodies  but 
those  of  their  martyrs,  which  they  were  often  forced  to 
conceal  from  their  persecutors.  It  has  been  very  plausibly 
conjectured  that  many  of  the  workmen  employed  in  the 
excavations  being  Christians,  first  suggested  to  their  fellow 
worshippers  in  Rome,  the  use  of  these  retreats  for  the  ob- 
servance of  their  religious  rites,  thus  guarding  them  into 
those  recesses  which  very  early  thus  became  places  of  con- 
cealment and  devotion.  No  doubt  the  laborers  in  these 
subterranean  galleries  formed  a  class  by  themselves.  They 
were  for  the  most  part  slaves,  the  degraded  and  the  out- 
casts of  the  Imperial  City.  It  was  natural  that  the  religion 
which  proclaimed  the  great  truth  of  the  equality  of  man- 
kind before  God — which  taught  the  hereditary  bondsmen, 
to  look  to  the  future  as  a  reward  for  all  the  sufferings 
and  irregularities  of  this  life  —  that  had  selected  fisher- 
men and  publicans  for  apostles,  should  be  received  with 
joy  and  embraced  with  gladness,  by  the  neglected  and 
despised  laborers  in  these  sand  caves. 

One  morning  we  obtained  a  special  permit  to  visit  the 
Catacombs  of  St.  Calixtus,  which  contain  memorials  of 
Christianity,  as  early  as  the  first  century,  before  the  last  of 
the  Apostles  had  left  the  earth. 

About  two  miles  from  the  Saint  Sebastian  gate,  after 


316  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

traversing  a  portion  of  the  Appian  Way,  we  entered  a 
large  field  occupying  the  right  of  the  road,  jommand' 
ing  a  most  glorious  view  over  the  Cainpagna,  and  of  the 
•distant  ranges  of  the  Appenines.  In  the  centre  of  thia 
field  we  came  to  a  large  opening,  which  revealed  a  long 
and  steep  staircase  of  stone,  going  down  as  it  were  into  the 
very  bowels  of  the  earth.  As  we  descended,  the  transition 
from  the  outer  world  where  all  was  sunshine  and  warmth, 
into  the  regions  of  darkness  and  dampness  below,  reminded 
me  of  Dante's  entrance  into  the  Inferno.  The  first  im- 
pression on  entering  these  catacombs,  when  the  light  of 
day  is  almost  instantly  lost,  and  by  the  dim  light  of  the 
torches  one  sees  nothing  in  advance  but  the  narrow  gallery, 
lined  with  tiers  of  sepulchres,  filled  with  the  decaying 
relics  of  humanity — and  feels  the  path  beneath  his  feet 
descending  deeper  and  deeper — is  one  of  horror  that  chills 
and  astonishes  the  mind.  The  imagination  then  calls  up 
what  the  reason  rejects,  and  plays,  as  if  fascinated,  with 
ideal  terrors.  One  remembers  then  the  story  of  the  band 
of  students  who,  with  their  tutor,  several  years  ago,  were 
lost  in  these  very  sepulchral  chambers,  and  whose  remains 
have  never  even  been  found.  But  soberly  speaking,  there  is 
not  the  least  occasion  for  fear — the  localities  are  perfectly 
familiar  to  the  guides,  and  many  of  the  more  dangerous 
galleries  have  been  walled  up,  so  as  not  to  tempt  the  wan- 
dering foot  of  imprudent  curiosity.  Soon  we  were  traversing 
numberless  corridors,  intersecting  each  other,  some  at  acute, 
some  at  obtuse  angles,  and  many  of  them  terminating  in  a 
rudely  formed  niche,  something  in  shape  like  the  tribune  of 
a  church,  so, that  you  are  obliged  to  strike  off  in  a  direction 
quite  different.  As  we  advanced  along  the  narrow  galleries, 
on  each  side  we  observed  with  scarcely  any  interruption, 


THE  CATACOMBS.  317 

two,  and  sometimes  three  tiers  of  grave-like  shelves,  such 
as  only  could  have  been  used  by  Christians,  whose  custom 
it  was,  not  to  burn  their  dead.  These  graves  were  mostly 
open,  and  in  many  of  them  were  crumbling  fragments  of 
bones,  and  in  two  or  three  almost  entire  skeletons;  at  their 
sides  earthen  flasks,  and  sometimes  flasks  of  glass,  contain- 
ing a  red  sediment,  these  last  marking  the  resting  place 
of  the  martyrs;  this  sediment  being  the  remains  of  their 
blood,  which  these  vases  always  contained  in  small  quan- 
tities. Some  of  the  tombs  are  still  closed  with  slabs  of 
marble,  bearing  the  name  and  age  of  the  deceased,  with 
short  comments^  all  testifying  their  faith  "in  brighter 
worlds  beyond'' — one  "sleeps  in  Christ" — another  is 
buried  "  that  she  may  live  in  the  Lord  Jesus" — while  on 
another  we  noticed  almost  the  words  of  St.  Paul  himself. 
This  inscription  records  the  name  of  Cornelia,  beloved 
daughter  of  Leopardus,  and  below  the  words,  "dying  !  yet 
behold  she  lives."  These  inscriptions  are  chiefly  in  Latin, 
often  mis-spelt  or  ungrammatical,  occasionally  written  in 
Greek  characters,  and  are  generally  simple,  but  in  some 
cases  extremely  affecting.  A  parent  briefly  names  the  age 
of  his  beloved  child,  or  a  husband  that  of  his  wife,  and  the 
years  of  their  wedded  life :  or  the  epitaph  adds  a  prayer 
that  the  dead  "may  rest  in  peace,"  annexing  some  rudely 
carved  emblem  of  the  believer's  hope  and  immortality. 
But  most  of  all,  I  noticed  the  Cross  in  its  simplest  form, 
employed  to  testify  the  faith  of  the  deceased.  Whatever 
ignorance  and  blind  credulity  may  have  sprung  up  in  later 
times,  here  in  these  catacombs^  upon  these  marble  slabs, 
that  shut  their  beloved  dead  from  their  sight,  the  early 
Christians  have  shown  that  with  them  there  was  no  doubt 
of  the  full  appreciation  of  that  glorious  sacrifice,  "  whereby 

£B2 


318  FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

alone  we  obtain  the  remission  of  sins^  and  are  made  par- 
takers of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven/'  One  inscription  in- 
terested me  very  much,  so  sad  and  solemn  in  its  details  — 
a  translation  of  which  would  be — '*  Oh  unhappy  times, 
when  we  cannot  worship  in  safety,  hardly  in  caverns  — 
when  we  are  hunted  like  wild  beasts  from  the  surface  of 
the  earth/'  It  is  in  one  of  the  chapels,  and  just  over  a 
fresco  representing  the  three  children  in  the  fiery  furnace, 
evidently  emblematizing  martyrdom.  Most  of  the  inscrip- 
tions are  concise,  and  to  the  purpose,  as  the  following : — 
"  Here  lies  Godianus,  deputy  of  Gaul,  who  was  executed 
for  the  faith,  with  all  his  family;"  and  then  the  touching 
conclusion :  "  Theophilas  a  handmaid  placed  this  stone  in 
fear,  but  full  of  hope ;"  as  if  none  were  left  to  pay  this 
last  tribute,  but  the  faithful  handmaid  of  the  deputy  of 
Gaul ;  or  if  for  his  faith  his  family  had  deserted  him  — 
then  among  the  faithless,  faithful  only  this  poor  menial, 
who  in  fear  erected  the  memorial,  which  handed  down  to 
our  times  the  master's  faith,  and  the  handmaiden's  faith- 
fulness. 

The  intelligent  gentleman  who  accompanied  us,  seemed 
to  think,  that  in  the  peculiar  form  of  these  tombs,  the 
early  Christians  desired  to  imitate  that  of  the  Saviour's, 
fashioning  them  like  caves,  and  closing  the  aperture  with 
a  slab  of  marble  or  granite — a  very  likely  hypothesis,  and 
certainly  a  most  beautiful  impulse  of  love,  treating  as 
sacred,  and  to  be  imitated,  even  the  accidental  and  out- 
ward details  connected  with  the  history  on  earth  of  **  the 
Incarnate  God." 

In  passing  along  these  narrow  galleries  of  tombs,  at 
intervals,  you  come  to  small  vaulted  chambers  many  of 
them  Btill  ornamented  with  the  rude  frescoes  by  which  the 


THE  CATACOMBS.  819 

early  Christiana  symbolized  their  faith.  These  small 
apartments  are  the  little  chapels,  where  several  hundred 
feet  below  the  surface  of  the  earth  they  met  by  the  dim 
light  of  torches  for  prayer  and  praise.  The  frescoes  are 
in  every  case  symbolical  of  facts  in  the  Gospel  History. 
Amonir  them  we  noticed  the  figure  of  the  "  Good  Shep- 
herd," represented  by  a  rustic  youth  in  tunic  and  buskins 
carrying  a  lamb  upon  his  shoulders.  Moses  striking  the 
rock,  supposed  to  be  illustrative  of  baptism.  Daniel  in 
the  lion's  den,  emblematic  of  our  Saviour  passing  through 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  and  it  may  be  of  the 
Christian's  conflict  amid  the  trials  of  life,  and  particularly 
applicable  and  affecting  to  those,  for  whom  it  was  thus 
depicted  —  Christians,  whose  faith  was  tried  by  the  fires 
of  persecution.  Here  too  were  frescoes  representing  Christ 
in  the  midst  of  the  Apostles  —  his  entry  into  Jerusalem  — 
and  several  of  the  Redeemer's  miracles,  but  principally 
the  miracle  at  Cana,  and  that  of  the  "  loaves  and  fishes." 
In  one  chapel  I  particularly  noticed  the  Holy  Spirit  as 
the  descending  dove  at  the  baptism  of  Jesus  —  and  in  one 
of  the  galleries,  close  by  the  tomb  of  the  martyr  Cecelia, 
a  portrait  of  our  Saviour  in  his  humanity,  representing 
him  with  one  hand  extended,  as  if  in  the  act  of  blessing, 
clasping  with  the  other  a  book  close  to  his  breast.  This 
is  interesting,  as  it  is  unquestionably  the  earliest  painting 
we  have  of  Christ,  being  of  the  third  or  fourth  century  of 
our  era,  and  although  exceedingly  rude  in  its  design  and 
finish,  clearly  furnishing  the  face  from  which  Cimabue, 
Giotto,  and  most  of  the  very  early  painters  have  copied. 
Our  Saviour  in  his  exaltation  is  not  represented  until 
many  centuries  later,  as  in  the  earliest  ages  of  the  Church, 
when  its  zeal  was  pure  and  devotional,  the  scene  of  the 


320  rOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 

crucifixion  was  reverently  avoided.  It  was  not  until  tlie 
eixth  century,  when  corruptions  had  crept  in,  that  frescoes 
representing  the  solemn  scene  on  Calvary  are  seen. 

This  portrait  of  Christ  in  the  Catacombs,  is  said  to 
have  been  painted  as  early  as  the  latter  part  of  the  second 
century.  It  represents  a  person  with  an  oval  face,  straight 
nose,  arched  eyebrows,  and  a  smooth  but  rather  high  fore- 
head—  the  hair  parted  and  flowing  in  curls  upon  the 
shoulders,  the  beard  not  thick,  but  short  and  divided. 
Over  the  left  shoulder  is  thrown  some  drapery.  How  far 
this  is  authentic  I  am  not  prepared  to  say.  It  certainly 
is  not  a  painting  of  the  early  date  claimed  for  it ;  and 
looks  as  if  it  might  have  been  painted  in  the  third  or 
fourth  century  of  the  Christian  era.  The  earliest  description 
we  have  of  Christ,  is  in  a  letter  from  Lentulus  to  the 
Roman  Senate.  This  Lentulus  is  said  to  have  been  the 
successor  to  Pontius  Pilate.  Whether  genuine  or  not,  its 
description  harmonizes  with  that,  which  every  Christian 
would  desire  to  form  of  his  Saviour.  In  this  letter,  he  is 
described  as  "a  man  of  lofty  stature,  of  serious  and  im- 
posing countenance,  inspiring  love  as  well  as  fear.  His 
hair  is  the  color  of  wine,  or  of  golden  lustre,  flowing  in  curls 
upon  his  shoulders,  and  divided  down  the  centre  of  the  head 
after  the  manner  of  the  Nazarenes.  The  forehead  is 
smooth  and  serene.  The  face  without  blemish,  of  a  plea- 
sant slightly  ruddy  color.  The  expression  noble  and  en- 
gaging —  the  nose  and  mouth  of  perfect  form  —  the  beard 
abundant  and  of  the  same  color  with  the  hair  —  the  eyes 
blue  and  brilliant,  and  the  most  beautiful  among  the  chil- 
dren of  men." 

We  were  some  three  hours  under  ground  wandering 
amid  these  sepulchral  chambers,  deeply  interested  with  the 


THE  CATACOMBS.  321 

revelations,  "which  at  every  step  opened  updn  us,  bearing 
the  strongest  testimony  to  the  truth  of  our  religion.  The 
Catacombs  are  certainly  a  gigantic  monument  to  the  truth 
of  Christianity,  no  less  aft'ccting  to  the  heart  than  con- 
vincing to  the  mind,  proving  with  what  rapidity  its 
doctrines  had  spread  —  the  persecutions  and  sufferings  to 
which  its  professors  had  cheerfully  submitted  by  reason  of 
"  the  hope  that  was  in  them,"  and  more  than  all,  the 
identity  of  the  primitive  Church  in  all  its  belief  and  prac- 
tice, with  the  scriptural  record.  The  Romish  Church,  it 
is  true,  points  to  these  Catacombs  to  prove  that  the  com- 
plications of  its  splendid  worship,  were  derived  from  the 
practices  of  the  early  Church  ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  any 
of  the  pictorial  representations  of  the  earliest  of  the  Cata- 
combs, or  in  the  innumerable  inscriptions  upon  its  tombs, 
that  furnish  the  least  authority  for  the  bold  assumption. 
In  other  Catacombs,  opened  and  used  at  a  later  date,  and 
after  corruptions  had  crept  into  the  Church,  it  is  very  true 
that  the  paintings  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  and  of  some 
of  the  earliest  Popes  arrayed  in  their  Pontificals,  may  be 
seen.  But  none  of  these  paintings  can  claim  an  earlier 
date  than  the  fifth  or  sixth  century. 

These  Catacombs  of  Calixtus  are  the  earliest,  and  it  is 
well  ascertained  from  the  dates  on  several  of  the  tombs, 
that  they  were  used  as  a  burial  place  by  the  Christians, 
during  the  persecutions  under  Nero.  It  was  in  this  per- 
secution St.  Paul  perished,  and  it  may  be  that  the  tradi- 
tion which  points  to  these  Catacombs,  as  the  first  resting 
place  of  the  body  of  the  Apostle  is  correct.  There  seems 
no  reason  for  distrust  in  the  main  features  of  the  legend, 
certainly  as  to  the  scene  of  St.  Paul's  martyrdom  and 
grave  —  the  localities  of  which  are  in  themselves  likely 


322 


FOREIGN  ETCHINGS. 


enough,  and  derive  some  additional  probability  from  tbe 
fact,  that  it  was  an  event  which  would  cling  most  tena- 
ciously to  the  memory  of  the  early  Church,  even  in  ita 
minutest  details.  The  bones  of  the  Apostle  are  said  to 
have  been  removed  from  these  Catacombs  in  the  year  375, 
at  a  time  when  it  is  to  be  fairly  presumed,  that  the  Chris- 
tian Church  could  not  have  forgotten  "where  they  laid 
him.''  The  patriotism  of  New  England  still  cherishes 
authentic  memorials  of  "  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,"  and  the 
places  of  the  sepulture  of  many  of  them  are  known  to 
this  day — and  there  certainly  is  more  abundant  reason 
why  the  Christians  should  remember  the  burial  place  of 
the  most  zealous  of  the  Apostles,  at  as  early  a  day  in  the 
Christian  era  as  375,  A.  C. 

Great  efforts  are  now  being  made  by  the  Papal  Govern- 
ment to  secure  the  Catacombs  from  destruction.  Many  of 
the  galleries  have  been  strengthened  by  arches  —  and 
shafts  are  being  sunk,  to  let  the  light  of  day  into  their 
gloomy  recesses.  Several  new  ones  have  lately  been  dis- 
covered, and  are  being  excavated  —  but  of  all  of  them  the 
most  interesting,  because  the  most  ancient,  are  the  Cata- 
combs of  Calixtus. 

No  sovereign  has  interested  himself  more  in  these  re- 
searches, and  been  at  more  expense  in  this  work,  than  the 
present  incumbent  of  the  Papal  Chair,  who  is  so  remarka- 
ble for  the  zeal  he  has  manifested  in  sustaining  and  am- 
plifying the  peculiar  tenets  of  that  Church,  over  which  he 
presides  with  so  much  urbanity  and  dignity.  Whatever 
may  be  said  of  the  zealous  ardor  of  the  present  Pontiflf  in 
advancing  and  sustaining  peculiar  doctrines — the  rebuke 
of  Michael  Angelo  can  have  no  application  to  him.  That 
celebrated   painter,  but  still   more   celebrated  sculptor, 


THE  CATACOMBS. 


323 


having  been  told  that  in  one  of  his  paintings  he  had  given 
too  florid  a  complexion  to  the  Apostle  Peter,  replied  "  that 
he  had  not  intended  to  portray  him  as  he  was  upon  earth, 
but  as  he  was  likely  to  look  in  heaven^  where  he  must  be 
continually  blushing  on  account  of  the  sad  immoral  lives 
of  his  successors." 

As  we  emerged  from  the  gloomy  recesses  of  the  Cata- 
combs, and  stood  once  more  in  the  bright  sunshine  — 
breathing  heaven's  pure  air  —  the  scene  before  us  was 
one  of  melancholy  interest.  .  Directly  below,  stretched 
the  long  line  of  the  Appian  Way,  marked  at  intervals 
by  the  crumbling  ruins  of  the  once  sumptuous  tombs, 
that  their  owners  vainly  built  to  make  their  names 
immortal;  before  and  around  us  the  desolate  waste 
of  the  Campagna  lay  in  all  its  desolation.  There  cities 
had  been  born,  and  there  they  perished  from  the  world 
forever  —  there  fields  had  been  lost  and  won,  when  Rome 
was  struggling  for  the  mastery  with  the  fierce  nations  that 
surrounded  her.  It  was  over  this  vast  plain  swept  that 
red  whirlwind,  descried  by  "the  wan  burghers"  from  the 
"  rock  Tarpeian,"  when  was  heard, 

"The  trumpet's  war  note  proud, 
The  trampling  and  the  hum, 
And  plainly  and  more  plainly 
Now  through  the  gloom  appears, 
Far  to  left,  and  far  to  right, 
In  broken  gleams  of  dark  blue  light, 
The  long  array  of  helmets  bright, 
The  long  array  of  spears." 

Looking  towards  the  Eternal  City,  the  huge  dome  of  St. 
Peter's  lifted  itself  in  air,  which  with  the  Tower  of  St. 
Angelo,  and  the  high  roof  of  the  Palace  of  the  Corsini 
were  glowing  in  the  light  of  departing  day.     There  too, 


324  FOREIGN   ETCHINGS. 

just  darkened  by  the  advancing  shadows  of  evening,  might 
be  discerned  the  grey  and  lofty  pile  of  the  Colosseum, 
and  the  desolate  line  of  the  Forum,  with  its  solitary  arches 
and  ruined  fragments.  Words  are  insufl&cient  to  describe 
the  melancholy  emotions  which  crowd  the  mind  on  look- 
ing out  upon  such  a  scene  as  this.  It  is  the  huge  grave 
which  covers  the  remains  of  the  loftiest  human  greatness 
that  ever  had  existence.     And  gazing  upon  such  a  scene, 

"The  heart  runs  o'er 
With  silent  homage  of  the  great  of  old, 
The  dead  but  sceptered  sovereigns,  who  still  rule 
Our  spirits  from  their  urns." 


THE    END 


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